


Restoration

by Ilya_Boltagon



Series: Dagor Dagorath [1]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Don't Like Don't Read, Drama, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reference to past unwitting incest, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:22:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 42
Words: 58,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21722182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilya_Boltagon/pseuds/Ilya_Boltagon
Summary: After Sauron's final defeat at the end of the Second Age, his master found an opportunity to return from the Void. Remaining hidden until he was ready to strike once more, Morgoth's assault upon the Elves that remained, a mere two centuries into the Third Age, was catastrophic, as he sought to settle ancient grievances. Now, only small bands of survivors remain, holding back his forces as best they can. Huge numbers have been killed, or enslaved- none know the true number, as many Elves simply vanished, leaving families torn apart. Hope is scarce, but the Valar are not idle. Messengers- Maiar in the forms of Men- were sent to bear tidings, that Middle-Earth must be held, for as long as it can, for it is here that true salvation will be restored to the world.In an isolated forest, two Mortals, newly returned to Life, struggle with their own pasts and inner demons. An escaped captive, fleeing the Enemy's servants, stumbles into their lives and sets into motion a harrowing chain of events, the end of which none can predict.
Series: Dagor Dagorath [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1979809
Comments: 278
Kudos: 62





	1. Chapter 1

_**Year 295 of the Third Age of Middle-Earth** _

Nienor looked around warily before slipping outside the house she and her brother had taken residence in. Abandoned, deep amidst a forest, their only neighbors wildlife, she knew they were as safe as they could be, hidden until they could gather information about the Enemy, and what power he now had in this world, a world that she and Turin had only lately returned to. They had labored hard to restore this cottage so it was fit to dwell in. After that, Turin's first task had been to ensure they both had arms to use if needed- who knew if Orcs or other enemies might stumble across them? Initially, Nienor had wanted them to keep moving, to find a settlement of Men or of Elves to join, but Turin had gainsaid her, claiming they needed to get their bearings before throwing in their lot with strangers. For surely that was what all who dwelt in Middle-Earth would be to them now, after so many thousands of years... none they knew would remain on these shores, Mortal or otherwise.

So now Nienor slipped from their small home to fetch water from the nearby river, water-skins in her hand, a dagger at her belt, and bow and quiver slung across her back (the weapons taken from abandoned villages that they had passed through, restored to working condition by her brother). Turin remained within the cottage he had claimed for them, dressing the brace of rabbits he had snared earlier that day, to be cooked and dried. Food had to last as long as it could, to keep their excursions to a minimum, and also to make certain their hunting did not scare away all the game in the area. Who knew how long they might be here? Plants grew in abundance closer to the river, though. Perhaps she could find some herbs to make the meat more enticing...

Reaching the river, and again casting a wary look about, Nienor quickly bent to fill the water-skins, listening hard for any disturbances nearby. Usually, all she could hear was the scuffle of small animals in the undergrowth, and the faint whisper of the wind in the trees, and there was no reason for this day to be any different.

Thus, the loud cacophony of cracking twigs, the panicked calls of startled birds, and, soon, the sound of heavy, labored breathing, had Nienor lurching to her feet with a start, letting the water-skins fall and going for her dagger, her blue eyes scanning the surrounding foliage. The racket came from just in front of her, as if someone were blindly tearing through the thicket, heading straight for Nienor.

She drew the dagger, clutching it tightly, holding her breath and waiting. She should retreat, she knew, go back to the cottage and fetch Turin, but for reasons she did not understand, she hesitated. She was no hunter, or warrior, yet she knew, somehow, that only one being was approaching, and anything that meant her harm surely would not give away their position so easily, making such a noise as to be heard for half a league?

More cracking and snapping, then a figure crashed through the trees, staggering to a halt just in front of Nienor, who stared, aghast.

The... person... (woman, Nienor managed to settle on, after a moment) was skeletally thin, clad only in the rags of a knee-length shift, so tattered and stained its original color could not be known. Her bare arms and legs were filthy, and covered in cuts and bruising, but there were also hints of what could be deep scars on her upper body, all but concealed beneath the rags she wore, and the coating of dirt on her too-pale skin. Heavy metal manacles circled both the woman's ankles and one wrist, a broken chain dangling between her feet. The manacle that had presumably been around her right hand hung loose at the end of a chain, still attached to the left wrist iron. Her right hand... Nienor took one look and cringed. Coated in blood, the flesh was torn, the hand misshapen, bone jutting out in several places. It looked almost as if she had _forced_ her hand free, breaking it in the process. _An escaped captive_ , Nienor's horrified mind realized. _But escaped from who, and how?_ Swallowing her nausea at the younger woman's condition, she forced herself to keep scrutinizing her for more information. There was not an ounce of flesh on her, anywhere. Examining her face, Nienor checked an exclamation when she saw the delicately pointed ears. An Elf-maiden, then, not a mortal as she had presumed. The elleth's face, drawn tight with terror, seemed almost swallowed up by her eyes- huge and dark, stormy-grey in color, and almost uncomprehending, wild, darting around as if she feared to relax. The most startling part, or so it seemed to Nienor then, was the elleth's hair- or lack of it. Her scalp had almost been ripped bare, only a few pale tendrils remaining, and, judging by the white wisps of hair tangled around her good hand, it had been self-inflicted. But why would anyone do such a thing?

 _Never mind that for now_. Nienor told herself firmly. The elleth, whoever she was, clearly needed aid, and, as there was no sound of pursuit, it should be safe enough to try and help. Sheathing her dagger, she stepped closer to the elleth, carefully, keeping her movements as slight as possible- the elleth looked ready to bolt, and she still had not looked directly at Nienor for more than an instant, instead continually surveying their surroundings, like a frightened deer, reacting to every possible threat.

“Can you hear me?” Nienor spoke gently, slowly extending one hand. “I can help you.”

The elleth's eyes widened- surprise at hearing her voice? Lack of understanding of the Common Tongue? Nienor had no way to know- but when Nienor stepped forward once more, the elleth stumbled backwards, both hands raised as if to ward her off. She stood, trembling like a whipped cur, and Nienor stood still, unsure of what to do. If she left to fetch Turin, the poor elleth would likely bolt, but if she could not approach her, what other choice was there?

The decision was made for her, somewhat swiftly, when the elleth's trembling increased, and her legs simply gave out. She crumpled to the floor, convulsing for a few moments, before laying still. Nienor raced over, heedless of aught else, checking that she still breathed, her gorge rising as she noted, again, how taut the elleth's skin was against her bones, as well as spying more gouge-like scars on her legs, above her colt-like knees. She did not even want to consider what sort of torment led to such things.

Feeling shallow, rapid breath against her hand, she heaved a sigh of relief, though the elleth did not stir. Standing quickly, Nienor turned, facing the direction of the cottage. It was only a short walk away, and the door had been open. Turin should hear her call. “Turin! Come hither. I need your help. Quickly!” She would not take any further risk by shouting out _why_ she needed help. Not when there was a chance some servant of the Enemy might still be nearby, looking for a runaway slave.


	2. Chapter 2

Turin, who had just finished skinning the last of the rabbits, blood still staining his hands, leaped to his feet upon hearing Nienor's faint cry. Unable to hear all her words, only that she had clearly called his name, he, well used to the cruelty that life dealt them, made a point of seizing his sword before racing from the cottage, all senses on full alert. Within moments, he had reached the river. It took him by utter surprise to see not Orcs, nor Easterlings or some other fell creature assailing his sister, but rather Nienor knelt by the side of what- to his eyes- looked like a slain elleth. Pity bloomed in his heart for the dead waif-like creature, but he allowed none of it to show in his eyes or expression. He kept his gaze on his sister, not wanting to yet see the manner of this elleth's death. “Nienor, are you well? Did you see aught of who abandoned the body here?” Straining his senses, he listened intently for any sounds of departing Orcs- or worse. If enemies had come this close, they would need to depart, and swiftly.

“The body-” Nienor shook her head, golden tresses flying. “Turin, she still lives. We need to provide healing.”

Turin looked skeptically at the prone form, seeing no signs of life. “Nienor-”

“She broke through the forest on her own two feet, frightened out of her mind, collapsing moments after she saw me. She still breathes. We _have_ to help if we can!”

Turin focused on only the first part of this news. “Was there any sign of anything pursuing her?” He tightened his grip on his blade.

Nienor rolled her eyes, and he was certain she would have slapped him if he had been within her reach, but it mattered not. Keeping her- and himself- safe was his first priority. “If there had been, I am sure you would have noted it by now!”

Barely acknowledging her words, he kept his eyes on the surrounding forest, alert for any threat. Broken branches and unsettled earth marked where the elleth had fled into this clearing, supporting Nienor's story, but he would not lower his guard yet- this could well still be a trap.

Something hit him in the shoulder, and he reacted, his blade swinging to meet a foe- only to realize it was merely a pine cone, that had been flung at him by his sister. He glared at her, as she was still kneeling at the side of the unresponsive elleth.

Her glare matched his own. “Turin, she needs to be tended to, and that cannot be done out here! Bear her inside so I can tend to her, and _then_ you can scout out here to your heart's content.”

Reluctantly, he moved to her side, taking a good look at the elleth for the first time. Clearly an escaped slave or thrall, with shackles on her ankles and one wrist, a ruined hand, hair ripped from her head, clothing in tatters, scars and fresh wounds all over her, she was naught but skin and bone. Yet for all that, somehow he knew that if she were well, she would be beautiful, and some vague familiarity in her features tugged at his mind. He pushed the thought aside. “Nienor, I...” he tried to speak gently, though his sister was no stranger to grief. “I do not think there is much to be done to save her.”

Her eyes blazed, boring into his. “Then we will give her comfort and succor, to die in comfort and peace! Surely you do not intend to allow her to die in the woods like an animal?”

Turin opened his mouth, then closed it again, unable to counter her words. Grimacing, he slid his sword through his belt, then knelt at the elleth's side, half-heartedly wiping his blood-stained hands on his trousers before slipping one arm under the elleth's shoulders, the other beneath her knees, and standing with little effort- she was so wasted away that she weighed nothing. As Nienor had said, she still breathed, but there was no other sign of life. “Come then, if you insist.” He strode back to the cottage, not looking at Nienor or the face of the elleth. In truth, he knew Nienor was right- no Elda deserved to die alone and abandoned, not when she appeared to have escaped whoever had done this to her, but she _would_ die, he had little doubt of that. And then Nienor would grieve anew, and there would be a body to bury, and what would they have accomplished? Nothing.

So, having carried the elleth inside and set her down on Nienor's bed, he left once more without a word. Let Nienor act the nursemaid. No matter what the outcome of this, he needed to remove any traces of the elleth's passage here. He was not fool enough to think she would not be pursued by her captors, whoever they had been.

Returning outdoors, he went back to where Nienor had found the elleth, and, crossing the clearing as lightly as he could, leaving little trace of his passage, he made his way back along the trail left by the elleth in her flight, moving silently, on full alert for any sounds of movement. To his relief, he heard nothing beyond the sounds of the forest, and once he was some distance from his home, having followed the elleth's tracks, plainly made without heed, he paused, taking his bearings, then did all he could to erase signs of her passing this way, wiping out footprints, gathering up any broken branches and discarded strands of blood-tipped pale hair, wiping away bloodstains as best he could, while using a thin branch to sweep over trampled grass, encouraging it to stand erect once more.

Then, choosing a direction at random, he began imitating tracks similar to those she had left, leading any potential pursuit away from the clearing and the cottage. Continuing this for some time, his course led him to the edge of the woods, further than he had come since they had settled there. He was uneasy about this, but carried on- the further away from his and Nienor's home that this 'trail' led, the better.

The path became steep, and before long, the trees became more sparse, before ceasing, leaving Turin utterly in the open. Ahead of him, the ground sloped upward, ever more steep, and glancing ahead, he saw that it came to an abrupt end at a clifftop. That would do. He resumed his false trail, using some of the elleth's severed hair to add authenticity to his work, ensuring that it looked as if she had fled to the cliff and cast herself off. Below, the narrow river that provided water to Turin and his sister's cottage was a roaring maelstrom. If the elleth had in truth made that leap, she would without doubt have died. Let any that sought her believe that: it was the safest course. Fleetingly, it crossed his mind that it would have been less trouble for him and Nienor both if that had been what happened in truth- he had planned to remain hidden and undisturbed, out of the quarrels of this world until the time was right to finally slay the Enemy. The elleth's presence, should she live, would complicate things and could drag him back into Elven society, something he wanted no part of- it had never done him, or them, any good in the past. But she was there now, so had to be cared for. An older part of him, that had been moved deeply by the pain of others, was horrified at his callous thoughts, but went ignored. Such things had helped him little before, and did not matter now. Slaying the Enemy, at last, was his only task now.

Erring on the side of caution, he retreated to the trees and concealed himself, remaining still and silent, watching and waiting. The weak light of the Sun disappeared behind thick cloud, and a heavy rain began to fall, making visibility difficult. Still Turin watched intently, and before long was rewarded. As the day darkened, the clouds above shifted, or so it seemed, until a vast black shape dropped to the ground less than a mile from where he was concealed. Despite the rain in his eyes, he could make out a vast wingspan, on feminine form, and he knew the name of this creature: Thuringwethil. The demon that played a small role in the deeds of Turin's own kinsman Beren, and his bride, Luthien. But, she was a fallen Maia of great power. For her to be pursuing this one elleth- had the maiden been her slave?

He watched, deep in thought, as Thuringwethil followed his false trail, then let out an unearthly screech- of rage? Of triumph? He could not tell.

But then Thuringwethil took wing once more, her vast bat-wings creating a sound like to thunder as she flew back North with all speed. If luck was with Turin, she would accept that her slave was lost to her, and abandon pursuit. Nonetheless, he remained where he was for some time, wanting to be certain she did not return. Luck had been no friend to him in his life before. And then he took a long, winding route through the woods, leaving a meandering trail, ensuring he did not return immediately to the cottage, not wishing to imperil the haven that kept the world at arm's length from him and his sister. The more removed from it that they could stay, the better.

Once inside, he closed and latched the door, setting his sword aside before going to see how Nienor had fared tending to their unwelcome (in his eyes) guest.


	3. Chapter 3

Nienor had to stop tending the elleth's wounds and step aside, taking deep breaths to calm herself- again. This was the fifth time she had been forced to stop bathing the wounds as gently as she could. The first few times, the injuries all over the elleth's body, cuts, bruises, whip marks, strained and fractured bones, and deep gouges and tearing on her thighs and in more... intimate areas, had been so deep, so hideous, that her stomach had rebelled and she had been forced to leave the room until she felt well enough to continue ministering to her. This time, her hands shook and her eyes welled with tears. She had literally had to tug two halves of a broken bone in the elleth's hand back beneath the skin and set it, and the elleth hadn't stirred. At all. Not even a flicker of an eyelid. Just how much pain had she tolerated, that having her very bones manipulated did not cause her to stir from unconsciousness? And she was so pitifully thin...

Finally, the ruined hand was set as best she could. She then eyed the shackles carefully. They needed to be removed, really, but she was not strong enough to cut through iron, even if she possessed means of doing so. Turin's daggers might do it, and she resolved to ask him when he returned. In the meantime, Nienor fetched fresh water and cloths, and, working slowly, careful not to wet any of the fresh bandages, she began sponging the dirt from the elleth's skin. To her amazement, as the skin gradually became clean, it was obvious that, were she well, this elleth would be stunning. Once she was as clean as Nienor could manage, she, with some difficulty, maneuvered her into a clean nightgown, before laying her back down. Still she had not stirred, though she still breathed. Nienor frowned. Would coaxing her to drink water be wise, or not? Not to mention food... if she did not wake, how could she eat? Surely they could not leave her to starve to death? A curse fell from Nienor's lips. She was no healer, she did not know what to do!

“How is she?” Turin's voice, coming from the doorway, made her start. She turned to glare at him. His tone implied boredom, as if the elleth were some fallen fledgling Nienor had found beneath a tree- unimportant.

“I have tended her as best I can, but she has not woken. And I cannot remove her shackles. Your dagger, perhaps, could cut through them...” She left the sentence open, knowing that if she asked him outright for help, he might simply refuse. He could be difficult at times, and his moods were hard to predict.

Without a word, he simply drew his dagger, strode to the bed, and swiftly sliced through the manacles on the elleth's ankles and wrist, letting them fall to the floor with a chorus of loud clanking.

Nienor looked at the elleth's face hopefully, but still there was no response. Sighing, she turned back to her brother. “You know more of healing than I, Turin. Would dripping water into her mouth be wise, or could that do more harm? The Belain only know when she last ate or drank anything...”

Turin shrugged. “It can do little harm, as long as the water has been boiled to cleanse it, then left to cool. Dripping it from a rag or cloth might work best. Slowly. And she must be put in a half-sitting position first, to prevent choking. Not that it will help. She will likely perish regardless.” Taking one last glance at the elleth, his brow furrowed almost as if he recognized something in her face, he shook his head and strode from the room.

Nienor rolled her eyes at his dour attitude, and laid a blanket over the elleth's skeletal form before slipping downstairs to set some water to boil. If this worked, perhaps she could use the same technique with thin broth, to get some food inside their guest... Once she recovered some strength, she might even awaken. Nienor was not going to give up yet.


	4. Chapter 4

She woke abruptly, as she always did, but remained unmoving, keeping her eyes closed. It was a cautionary habit she had taught herself, to give nothing away until she had some idea in whose company she might be. Listening hard, she could discern breathing, from only one being, it appeared. Alone with her usual minder, the vampire, then. The lesser of the two evils that comprised her life. And yet... something felt... off. Different. Strange. Why, she could not say. Remaining at still as she could, she tried to work out if there was anything different in the air, or the surface she had been flung onto. Was she in a part of the fortress she had not found before? That could mean some new torment had been devised, for whatever infraction her 'carer' or the vampire's master, the Dark Lord, had caught her in. It no longer mattered what they believed she had done, or not done. She would be punished regardless.

Keeping her eyes closed, she tried to concentrate, to at least work out if she lay on cold stone or hard earth. But her right hand was throbbing with a sharp ache, and it felt as if it was encased in some kind of cloth. She dismissed that as her mind playing tricks, snatching at dim memories of a far earlier time, before the fortress, before the vampire and the Dark Lord who loved to torture her, a time when wounds had been tended with soft cloth and soothing words. _No_. That time was no longer, if it had ever been more than a dream. It was gone. She tried to focus on her left hand instead. Beneath her palm, she could feel something... soft? No, that made no sense either. Nor did the fact that the relentless icy chill of the fortress had faded. She felt positively warm, in fact. And pain no longer ripped through her body each and every second, now it was almost intermittent, and nowhere near as sharp as usual... had she finally died? Was she now in Mandos' hall?

She could still hear someone breathing, but the sound was light, almost as if the person dozed. Would the Maiar who served Namo sleep when minding a new charge? Holding her breath, just in case this was some trick, she opened her eyes the tiniest slit. Her vision was blurry, but she could make out a person, bright-haired, seated near to where she lay. Beyond that, she could make out brown walls- wooden ones? Smells were the next thing to reach her- wood-smoke nearby, from a fire, perhaps, mingled with herbs the names of which she had once known, in the dream that she used to believe was her life, when she thought she had had a family that loved and protected her. Foolishness, she chided herself, as she had many times. Where had that 'family' been when she had been dragged into hell, and left there to suffer?

Apparently, she had made some kind of movement, or sound, because the person with bright hair leaped up with a gasp, one hand flying to their mouth, before they all but jumped across to where she lay, towering over her. Her heart pounded, and instinctively she tried to jerk away, out of reach. Except, it turned out, she was covered with a thick blanket, and it was tucked in too tightly for her to escape. The person was too close anyway. Gritting her teeth, she curled up in a tight ball, praying- not that it had ever helped before- that whatever was about to happen would be over soon, and she could retreat into sleep. Dead, and safe in Mandos? She should have been so lucky...

“You're awake.” The person- or woman, she realized- had not moved any closer, and her voice was... soft. Softer than anything she had heard in... ever. ('Before' had been a dream.)

She kept her eyes on the woman suspiciously, mind racing. What trick was this? Lying on a soft surface, a warm room with blankets, the smell of herbs that could treat injuries... Oh. Of course. The Dark Lord was tampering with her mind again, letting her fall into illusion, so when she spoke against him in this dream, he would have another reason to punish her. She clenched her fists, ignoring the fresh stab of pain in her right hand- she had had worse.

“I had begun to fear you would never awaken.”

She continued staring at the phantom that the Dark Lord had conjured. This was not real, and she would not fall into his trap by replying.

“How are you feeling? Do you remember seeing me, outdoors, before you collapsed? My brother and I brought you here. You're safe, I promise. Nothing here can hurt you.”

Silence. The woman was still looking at her, as if waiting for some kind of reply. Fine. She scowled at her.

“This is not real.” Her voice sounded so rough and hoarse compared to the voice used by this spell-wrought illusion! “I will not be deceived. Leave me.” Turning her back, she remained utterly still, waiting for the Dark Lord to give up and this illusion to fade. She would not lose another of his little games. Not this time. There was another soft cry from the woman, then the sound of the door opening. Breathing sounded from a different set of lungs and she tensed. Was this the illusion wearing thin, or some new way of trying to bewilder and confuse her? Soft footsteps sounded. The woman, she deduced, walking away. The door closed with a click, and through the thick wood, she could make out faint murmurs, from the woman and the other figure, who, judging by the deeper voice, was male.  
  
Shivers racked her body and nausea churned in her belly. Was this, then, the new form of her torture? Show her that even if she did escape from the Dark Lord, which she still maintained that she had not, then even among 'help', there would be males, and she had learned, males only desired one thing from her. Her shivering increased, and she sat bolt upright. Illusion or not, she needed some manner of weapon at hand if the male attempted to come near her. She might never have been able to keep the Dark Lord from using her as he would, but no-one else would, ever. Not even in some spell that existed only to trick her. Perhaps _this_ was the Dark Lord's game, to see if she would 'buy' her freedom with her body, and then punish her for her betrayal, even if she had only done so in this illusion?  
  
There were no clear weapons that she could see in her quick look around this room, nothing that could be shattered to provide jagged shards, nothing heavy enough to use as a bludgeon. What was she supposed to do?

The door opened once again, admitting not the woman as she had hoped, but the man whose voice she had heard. He was tall, pale-skinned and bright-eyed, with black hair, his expression grim as he surveyed her, taking a step into the room.

In one movement, she ripped the constricting blankets from herself and sprang from the bed she had been held on, scrambling backwards, keeping the bed between him and her, her hands raised defensively. He stood stock-still, startling grey eyes fixed on her. Neither of them spoke or moved. She didn't dare take her eyes from him, keeping sharp watch of every move he made.

Her limbs shook, as if they had not been used for some time, but she fought to remain still- showing weakness would only make things worse. Only then did she become aware that she wore a thin nightgown that, while it did cover her arms and legs, clung to her figure, and she recoiled, hunching over to make herself look as ungainly as possible. The Dark Lord had always said it was her beauty that tempted him into using her, so perhaps if this man had no idea what she looked like, then she would be safe? Involuntarily, her arms wrapped themselves tightly around her torso, trying to shield her body from the man's gaze. He took a step closer, and to her dismay, she could not hold back a whimper, her eyes dropping to the ground. He was going to hurt her, and there was nothing she could do.

The man froze, and when she finally dared to meet his gaze once more, his eyes had softened with something like sympathy. Holding her gaze, and keeping his hands in plain view and still, he backed away from her, and out of the room. Without a word, he turned and left, beckoning the woman to follow.

The golden-haired woman cast her an anxious glance before following the man. She glanced around in disbelief. The door had been left open. Should she try to run? But... to where? She had no idea where she was, or what the purpose might be behind this illusion (was it merely an illusion, a trick from the Dark Lord, or... what if... could this be real?) She had dreamed of the vampire, while beating her, slicing through the chains on her ankles, giving her the opportunity to run. She'd dreamt of finding herself outside, beneath a stunning open sky, then crashing through trees that spoke and sang in strange voices, calling to her, using a name she'd once known, but no longer owned. Then... what? What had happened next in the dream? Gold... a glint of gold... blue eyes... the woman? But how could that be? Blessed unconsciousness had followed, then she had found herself here, caught in this illusion of the Dark Lord's.... had she not?

Giving in to the weakness in her legs, she sank to the floor, burying her head in her hands. Which parts of this were dream, and which were part of the spell used to toy with her mind once more? Why couldn't she work it out?


	5. Chapter 5

Nienor glanced back at the now-closed door to the elleth's room, her brow creased in concern. Wide-eyed, she looked back at her brother. “Alright, what did I miss? She did not seem at ease with me, she was definitely on edge, with her guard up, not believing this was real, but she was not openly afraid. Why did that change the instant you went in there? You did not even speak!”

He ignored her question, asking one of his own. “When you tended her injuries, did you note... were there any that could have been caused by...” He shook his head then spoke bluntly. “I am almost certain she has been tormented, despoiled against her will, and I would assume often, and violently.”

Nienor clamped a hand to her mouth. Oh, Valar... the elleth's injuries... she'd seen them, why hadn't she thought of that? But... “To recoil so from a stranger, though...”

“Conditioning.” Any hint of gentleness was gone from Turin's voice, replaced by the bitter note that came from having seen too much. “She has been so damaged that the sight of any man causes fear.” He turned away. “It will fall to you to tend her for the foreseeable future, until and unless she calms.”

Having expected that anyway, Nienor nodded- Turin, as he was now, cared little for nursing others. But... “How am I to convince her we mean no harm? She was utterly certain that I, and this place, are not real, so how...”

“Time.” Turin's expression was haunted. “Escaping the noose of captivity comes with a price, and only time can allow those wounds to scar over. They'll never be gone.”

 _Thank you, Turin, that was highly helpful!_ Nienor was on the verge of saying it aloud, but stopped herself. Her brother had his own demons to fight, ones that had existed long before the events of Brethil that they never now discussed. Clearly he would be of little use in deciding how to get through to the elleth. Sighing, Nienor turned and slipped back into the room. All she could think to do was be present as much as possible, speak calmly to their 'guest' and hope that, sooner or later, she began to trust that this was not some dream or nightmare, and let her guard down. Returning to the chair she had been in earlier, she saw that the elleth was huddled on the floor, her head in her hands, rocking back and forth slowly, but making no sound.

Nienor bit back concern about the elleth's wounds re-opening, willing herself not to tell her what to do, instead remaining seated, and, ignoring the strange behavior, picked up the sewing she had discarded earlier and resuming stitching, reasoning that if she acted as if naught were amiss, that might calm the elleth down faster. Continuing her sewing, she resisted the urge to glance up at the elleth. When she was ready to speak, she would. Until then, the only thing she could think to do was to act as if everything was normal, there was nothing strange, or anything that needed to be said or discussed. Come to think of it, that was how she and Turin had been living, so this was nothing new. Just live each moment as it came, no need to dredge up old memories, things better left forgotten...

A strange grumbling noise disturbed Nienor's thoughts, and she glanced up quickly. The elleth had a hand pressed to her stomach, looking almost puzzled. Of course. She had to be hungry, but judging by her expression, she did not understand the sensation or the sound. Nienor balked, wondering just how long it had been since the elleth had eaten, not counting the thin broth she had been dripping into her mouth while she lay senseless. “Are... are you hungry?”

Stormy-grey eyes locked on her, scrutinizing, watching her every move as if preparing for some trick. Nienor, disconcerted by the intensity of that gaze, wanted to shiver, but remained still, keeping her gaze as steady as possible, waiting for a reply. At last, the elleth's head twitched in what might possibly have been a nod.

Nienor stood up, ignoring the elleth's flinch at the sudden movement, as if nothing were out of the ordinary. “There's some stew in the kitchen, from last night. I can heat it and bring you a bowl, if you like?”

Another not-nod. Nienor smiled- this at least was progress, even if the elleth was skewering her with her gaze. “I'll be back in a few minutes then.” Leaving the room, she closed the door behind her, exhaling, feeling an almost tangible relief as those piercing eyes left her.


	6. Chapter 6

Turin kicked his boots against the door-frame, trying to shake off at least some of the dried mud before returning inside. A rough sack was slung over his shoulder, full of game gathered on this hunt. In truth, he had not needed to go hunting yet again, but it was for the best- there was another mouth to feed now, or would be once the elleth recovered enough to stomach solid food, which would take time. Going hunting also meant he did not have to spend long hours in the cottage with Nienor, and all the unspoken problems that hung in the air between them. Being out in the forest gave him some semblance of freedom (even if he had needed to slaughter a handful of Orcs that had come too close to one of the hunting snares he had set up.) Killing Orcs was cathartic too- it distracted him from the uncomfortable situation he was in, living with the sister he had once, unknowingly, married and committed the gravest of sins with. Shaking his head roughly, he crushed that memory. What good would it do to dwell on it now? They had been returned to this world together, with no memory of what lay beyond it, and he simply had to assume that there would be no peace until, someday, the Enemy that had made nightmares from their lives was finally destroyed. Admittedly, he had no idea how that would be accomplished while he and Nienor lived in seclusion in this abandoned cottage, but.... they had to start somewhere.

Nienor had wanted to find others, he knew that. Find others who dwelled here and gather news, work with them against the Enemy. She still somehow thought that could end happily. He had seen enough friends and allies fall under the shadow of Morgoth's curse upon them both to know how it would end if he (or they) tried it once more. It was out of the question. And yet, now, thanks to Nienor, another now shared their living space, another who could be drawn into their darkness- but, he reflected, from what he had seen of the elleth so far, the behavior he had seen from her, he doubted there was much worse she could endure than what she had already been through. Her fear upon seeing him, the way she had reacted... He had seen enough of man's darkest nature to know what caused that fear in females. The elleth needed help greater than he knew how to give, so for now, keeping his distance was all he could do, until she felt safer, and could be reassured that he would never harm her in that way.

Footsteps sounded. Turin looked up as Nienor entered the kitchen. Nodding a greeting, he immediately looked away again. As ever, even looking at her felt wrong somehow. He had no idea what to do about it.

“How is the elleth?” He spoke with his gaze on the window.

“Awake. For now, she still seems exhausted. But she watched me as warily as a fox watches a hound. She is hungry, I believe. Her stomach growled, and she did nod when I offered food. Sort of.” She busied herself ladling last night's stew into a bowl. “I'm not sure how much to give her, she's so thin she needs huge meals, but-”

“No.” Here, at last, was something he did know.

“'No'? Turin, I'm not going to deny her food!”

“That isn't what I meant. If she has been starved, which seems fairly obvious, then she will not be able to cope with large quantities of food so soon. If you simply give her a bowl of stew, she will wolf it down- and it will likely reappear.” He could practically hear Nienor rolling her eyes, but refused to react. He had seen the aftereffects of long captivity on Gwindor, long ago in Nargothrond- he promptly clamped down on that memory, not wanting to be reminded of another death that could be laid at his door. This was about their mysterious elleth and her health. “There are dandelions and gentians blooming not far from here. You'll need to gather as many roots as you can. Brewed into a tonic and taken daily, they will stimulate appetite, make her more able to digest food. _Then_ we can see about introducing solid food.”

Nienor scoffed. “I note your use of 'I' will need to gather roots.”

He arched a brow, still not looking at her. “Well, unless you know how to brew them into a tonic...”

Nienor stalked outside, muttering under her breath. Turin's lips twitched as he fought back a smile. She sounded just like him sometimes, when he'd been out-maneuvered. That expression disappeared in seconds when a cry of fear echoed from the room where the elleth resided, followed by the sound of shattering glass. He was on his feet in seconds, going for a dagger, only just preventing himself from charging into the room. If the elleth had merely had a nightmare, or imagined some threat, then his bursting in, blade in hand, would do more harm than good. But if there _was_ some real threat, he could not stand idly by... Leaving the dagger sheathed, but within easy reach, he crept over and silently pushed open the door to her room.

The elleth stood near a now-empty wooden frame. Turin remembered there had been a crude looking-glass in this room. Now, it was a pile of shards at the elleth's feet. She stood, staring at where the mirror had been, shaking. He considered, then slipped out again before she noticed his presence. His best guess was she had seen her own reflection and possibly she had startled, thinking someone else was in there- odd things happened to one's mind if either torment or solitude was the norm for too long. Equally, it could be that she did not recognize herself and wanted to destroy the image of what she had become. That feeling, he knew all too well. Either way, dealing with her promised to be hard work, and a cold, cruel part of him wished Nienor had never found this elleth. What did either of them know about healing one so damaged? _Inflicting_ harm on others, that, unfortunately, they both knew well how to do. But piecing someone back together?

How could they ever manage that?


	7. Chapter 7

She breathed heavily, staring at the shards of glass now littering the floor at her feet. _A mirror_. She dimly recalled such things, in her dreams of Before. But the person she had seen in the glass did not look like the dream-her had. The figure in the reflection had been stick-thin, with only strands of pale hair clinging to a bare scalp, pale, colorless skin wrapping too tightly to her bones. In the dream of the life she had once known, she had had long, thick midnight tresses, a healthy amount of flesh on her bones, pink lips and roses in her cheeks. The... thing in the glass wasn't her, it couldn't be! Smashing the mirror with her fist had seemed logical- then she wouldn't have to look at the facsimile of herself anymore. Since the woman had offered her food, she had begun to grasp that maybe, just maybe, this was real, not one of the Dark Lord's tricks, but seeing that emaciated creature in the mirror- was that who she was now? She looked terrible. If so, why had the Dark Lord insisted she was beautiful, and continued to force his attentions on her?

At least, now she was so repulsive to look at, she did not have to fear the man who had appeared twice wanting her for anything, so that was one relief. Still... she could still be beaten, if he or the woman wished to do so, and she was powerless to prevent that. And why wouldn't they? She was in their home, in their power, using their clothing, bed, food and water, resources that they likely needed more than she did, and for what? She could offer them nothing. How long did she have before they realized that, and became angry, lashing out or simply casting her out into the forest?

However this brief respite ended, she realized, she would need some means of defending herself, either from the man and woman, or from... other dangers, if she was sent forth again. Stooping, she picked up one of the longest jagged glass shards. Perhaps this could be fashioned into a weapon, somehow... A floorboard creaked and her head shot up. She shoved the glass shard under the mattress, hoping it would not be discovered there- she needed it!

The door opened and the woman stepped inside, slowly, a steaming mug in her hands. The smell of herbs, still so aching familiar to her, came from the drink. “Dandelion root tea.” The words came from her lips unbidden. Wait. How did she know that?

* * *

Hearing the elleth speak unbidden startled Nienor into almost dropping the cup. She caught herself, schooling her face to look normal (hopefully) and nodded. “That's right. You've had it before?”

More staring, and no reply. She decided to let it pass, taking a step closer. “Anyway, it's for you.” Gingerly, she held the cup out. Slowly, the elleth took it, wrapping her unbandaged hand around the heavy china, then stepping back quickly, out of Nienor's reach. Something crunched beneath her bare feet, and although she did not react, Nienor glanced down, and almost gasped. There was shattered glass all over the floor, and the elleth was stepping onto it almost casually, as if she was unaware she was cutting her feet to ribbons. Without thinking, Nienor surged forward. “Be careful!”

The elleth recoiled, almost leaping onto the bed and curling in on herself, making herself as small as possible, her head lowered as if to protect it from blows. She still clutched the mug, but the tea had slopped everywhere.

Nienor forced herself to stay still. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you. But you were hurting yourself, stepping on that glass. Where did it come from, anyway?”

The elleth only curled tighter into a ball. Nienor frowned, looking around the room. She saw the empty mirror frame and worked out that the elleth herself must have broken it. Why, she had no idea. And what should she do now? The elleth was cowering, her feet were bleeding, and there was glass and spilt tea all over the floor. Which issue should she tend to first? _Think, Nienor!_ Speaking while looking at an area just above the elleth's head, so she was not forcing eye contact on her, she struggled to sound nonchalant. “I will go and fetch supplies to clean this up, and then I think we need to take a look at your feet. They're cut badly, and there may be glass in the wounds. I won't be a moment.”

And, leaving again, hoping that her words would sink in and the elleth would let her tend to the fresh injuries when she returned, she went to fetch the broom, the remaining hot water left from making the tea, and what few scraps of fabric they had left for more bandages. She would also, she decided, if Turin was still in the house, (doubtful) make it clear that she wasn't happy that he either knew about the broken mirror and had just left it, or had so callously ignored the elleth that he hadn't heard the glass shattering. As she gathered supplies, she tried not to panic, but... tending the elleth's other injuries had been relatively easy, because she had been unconscious at the time. Now, with her awake, and reacting with such fear... would she even allow Nienor to minister to her? What could she do if she would not? Using any form of restraint would be a bad idea, and would not encourage the elleth to trust her, and yet... the new gashes on her feet could not simply be left. She struggled to puzzle it out while she swept up the glass and removed it from the room, all the while feeling the elleth's gaze on her, but pretending otherwise.

Returning to the room once more, she fought the urge to swallow with apprehension. The new cuts on the elleth's feet needed to be seen to. If she acted as if she fully expected compliance, perhaps that would help the elleth to co-operate. Still, her heart pounded as she carried the bowl of water, a soft cloth and the rags-turned-bandages to the bed where the elleth now crouched, arms wrapped around her knees. Nienor knelt down slowly, making eye contact just for a second. “I am going to wash the blood from your feet and clean the cuts, make sure there is no glass in the wounds, and then bandage them. After that, I'll leave you in peace for a while if that's what you want.” Moving with a confidence she didn't entirely feel, she dipped the cloth into the water, wrung it out and waited.

After what felt like an eternity, but could not have been more than five minutes, the elleth uncurled herself somewhat, extending one leg so her foot was within Nienor's reach. Hiding her relief at this easy acquiescence, Nienor grasped the elleth's ankle gently, pretending to not notice as the elleth flinched at the gentle touch, or the fact that she was now tense and rigid as an ancient oak tree. “This might sting a little,” she warned as she raised the cloth.

The elleth did not respond, so Nienor went about cleaning and binding the cuts as best she could. Luckily, no glass remained within the injuries, and none were too deep. Nienor felt another surge in confidence when, without being prompted, the elleth drew back the now bandaged foot and immediately offered the other one. She had not made a sound, even when the cleaning had to cause some pain. Nienor did not want to think about why that might be.

When the task was done, Nienor let go of the elleth's ankle immediately, again feigning obliviousness about how much tension immediately vanished from her posture. Did she fear the touch of other women as well? Nienor could well grasp why the elleth might shy from males, but to fear any kind of touch on her skin... what had _happened_? Did she truly want to find out?

Still, that was something to consider later, if the elleth ever trusted them enough to talk about her past. On that note, however...

"That wasn't so terrible, was it?” She attempted a smile. “My name is Nienor, by the way. The man you met earlier is my brother, Turin.”

Something flickered in the elleth's eyes, almost like recognition, as if Nienor and Turin's names meant something to her, which made little sense. She and Turin had been... gone for two Ages of this world, so how could a random elleth know of them? The elleth's lips moved, but no sound came out. Lip-reading was not one of Nienor's skills, so she blinked, not understanding.

“Arwen.” It came out in a whisper. The elleth's expression held faint surprise, as if she herself had almost forgotten the word she had just spoken. “My name... is Arwen.”


	8. Chapter 8

Turin had his senses on full alert as he backtracked the trail the elleth had left, many days ago now. He had cleared any trace of her passage, of course, but it could not hurt to be certain that she had no other pursuers besides Thuringwethil, whom he had hopefully thrown off the scent. Besides, this gave him another reason to be outdoors and away from Nienor and the awkward painful conversation they still had yet to have. It wasn't as if they could discuss any issues between them with the elleth in the house, anyway. He had left immediately after instructing Nienor in how to make the dandelion tea, reasoning that their guest would almost certainly respond better to a woman, if she was to respond at all.

There was a rustling sound nearby, as if the tree branches had all moved at once. Odd, and not something he had seen since his fosterage in Doriath as a child, when the trees might bestir themselves to greet... _Elves_.

In seconds, he had slipped deeper into the woods, making no sound and concealing himself, remaining as still as possible, praying he would not be discovered. The last thing he wanted was more 'allies' that would, inevitably, fall under his curse and perish, just as all the others he befriended had, one way or another. That said, he did want a glimpse of whoever this was, if possible- there was a slim chance that he might overhear something of the state of the Elven realms, and the Enemy's current position, if he eavesdropped. Holding his breath, he listened intently, just able to make out the near-silent footfalls of at least two Elves. He narrowed his eyes, peering through the trees and waiting for whoever it was to come into view.

The ellon was one Turin was sure he had never seen before- he had rich deep brown hair, lines of weariness or pain marring the ever-youthful face, and dark, haunted eyes. He held his right hand oddly, and it took a moment for Turin to realize that it was scarred and perhaps could not flatten out. The elleth's bright golden hair gleamed even in the dim light of the woods, and he stifled a curse. Lady Galadriel. Of course. Typical. Just his luck- he wanted, no, _needed_ to remain hidden, and one of the first Elves he encountered would be one of the few who could access his thoughts as easily as breathing, and, that aside, would recognize him the instant she saw him- she had known him in Doriath, after all, and he had been twenty when he left there. He was only in his thirties now, the Ages that had passed since his death notwithstanding. There was no chance that Galadriel would not recognize him if she saw him. All he could do was remain still and pray that neither she not her companion would notice him. He listened intently to their conversation, needing to know why they were here.

“...fared at reasoning with my grandsons, Cousin, or do they still maintain that their quest will bear fruit, somehow?” Galadriel was asking. Her expression was sad, and resigned, Turin noted, as if she already knew the answer, but had asked anyway. Her words were startling in themselves, to his ears. Galadriel had grandsons? Old enough to be questing for something? Galadriel and Celeborn had had no children in his time... For the first time, it dawned on Turin just how many centuries must have passed, though he had known it, it had not sunk in.

“No.” The ellon, Galadriel's cousin evidently, so he had to be of the Noldor, though Turin could not put a name to him, sighed. “Elladan and Elrohir simply will not accept that it is hopeless. And with Elrond and Celebrian removed to the Havens...” He shook his head. “They will listen to no-one. Elladan insists it is not over until and unless a body is found. They have no idea how many went missing and were never found, back in Beleriand...”

Galadriel bowed her head. “In time, they will come to see the truth. Though I wish with all my being that they do not have to. The darkness of these times... I would give anything to spare my grandsons from it. As their father would. He hoped to raise his children in peace, not in a re-enactment of the war that formed his childhood and youth.”

The ellon let out another sigh. “I would wish the same. At least Elrond and Celebrian's unborn daughter will grow up as safe as she can be in these times. Cirdan's realm is the safest place that remains. Of course, the twins are aggravated about that too, seeing their parents as trying to replace...” he broke off abruptly, then glanced around. “Are you sure this is the place the scouts mentioned? It seems too isolated a place to find the Mortals that were rumored to be here...”

Turin silently thanked whatever power was listening that he had laid a false trail for the elleth that led far away from their cottage. Evidently either he or Nienor had been seen somehow, and now Elves sought them. Thankfully, neither Galadriel nor her cousin had looked his way, so it seemed he had not been discovered. Shoulders slumping with relief, though he still kept a wary eye open, he stepped backwards silently, edging into the trees, moving as slowly and quietly as he was able. Gradually, the sound of the Elves' voices faded, but still he kept moving, away from them and away from the cottage, deeper and deeper into the woods. He would remain outdoors for as long as he needed to, to ensure his home was not found.

 _They could have helped find the elleth's family_. Turin scowled and silenced the reasonable voice in his mind. It didn't matter. The elleth was wasted and sickly, and could barely speak, she was so traumatized. She was fearful of nearly everything, and could not abide being touched. If she had kin left at all, what good would reunion do her, or them? Her family would not even know her! No, for now, until she recovered more, she needed to stay with him and Nienor, become used to people once again. Then and only then, when she was ready, could the subject of her own people be broached.

The fact that this would take time, delaying Turin's having to reveal himself and deal with Elves who had known him before, and face up to his past mistakes, had absolutely no bearing on his decision. Continuing to live in isolation was what was best for the elleth, that was all. It had nothing to do with his own guilt, shame and pride.

If he told himself that enough times, he might even come to believe it.


	9. Chapter 9

Arwen clutched the fresh mug of tea that Nienor had fetched for her, mind still reeling at the name she had only just truly remembered. How had she come to _forget_ it? The Dark Lord had always called her by another's name, when he had- No, she would not think about that! But to have utterly forgotten her own...

Nienor, still sitting some distance away, gave her a small smile. “Arwen. It's a pretty name.”

It took a moment for her to remember how she should respond to a compliment. “Thank you.”

“Did you... did you only just remember it? When you told me, you looked almost surprised...”

Arwen looked away. She was not going to talk about that, or the name she'd gotten used to responding to when the Dark Lord had her captive. Instead, she took a few swallows of the dandelion tea, finishing it quickly, and thought hard. The name Nienor, and that of her brother Turin... she knew them, from lessons she had had, long ago (she was reasonably sure now that her life Before had not been a dream, but it was long gone, irretrievable.) But the Turin and Nienor in those stories had both died, so how could one of them sit before her now?

That said, the Dark Lord was meant to have been banished from Arda, and that was no longer true, so why would aught else be?

“ _ **This world will now be mine, as it was ever meant to be. As are all who dwell within. None can long stand against me. They will serve me in the end, or perish**_.”

The echo of the Dark Lord's words reverberated through her mind, making her shudder. She heard it now as clearly as she had when in his presence. How many times had she heard words such as those, and been forced to agree with them?

“Arwen?” Nienor's voice made her start, and her eyes shot open (when had she closed them?) She was no longer sitting on the bed, but had backed up to the nearest wall. Her hands were raised as if to ward someone off (not that it had ever worked back in the fortress), and the empty mug lay on the ground at her feet. Nienor was looking at her oddly.

Arwen swallowed. “Sorry, I was just... remembering something that I'd rather not.” Forcing some of the tension to leave her body, she sat back down. She had gotten this far- somehow- and had been here for... how long? She had no idea. But no pursuit had found her, so this room, this dwelling, was safe. So far. And as long as she could convince Nienor and Turin to allow her to stay, then she would continue to be safe within these walls. That had to be her priority now, making sure they had no cause to cast her out. Old memories haunting her were unimportant and best ignored. She'd gotten out, she was hidden and safe and needed to stay that way. She tried for a smile. It probably didn't work. “How long have you and your brother lived here?”

“Around a month.” Nienor seemed to understand her need to change the subject. “I won't press you on what happened to leave you in this condition,” she gestured vaguely at Arwen's emaciated, scarred and bandaged form, “But... forgive me, but... what happened to your hair?”

Arwen raised a hand to her almost-bald scalp. What _had_ happened? She didn't quite recall... She touched her scalp gingerly, and with little warning, memories hit her like a tidal wave.  
  
_Thuringwethil had hissed at the sight of her today, but she had no idea why. The vampire had hauled her by the hair, throwing her at the Dark Lord's feet before flitting away. He had glowered down at her. “What is this?!” His huge hand, clad in a spiked iron gauntlet, seized a handful of her hair, yanking at it, bringing tears to her eyes. “Why does the black turn to white?! What have you done?!”_

_She whimpered, cowering, unable to provide an answer- she didn't know!_

_“If you wish to alter your appearance so strongly, so be it. I will aid you.” He snarled, pulling harder at her hair until hanks of it were ripped out at the roots, making her scream_.

Tears sprang to her eyes as she resurfaced from the memory. Each time he had seen white strands among the black, he had ripped them from her head. It changed nothing, her hair continued to lighten until no trace of black remained. When she had finally fled and felt the open air once again, some madness had seized her, and she had ripped away what little remained of her hair, somehow thinking that if she removed it, then He could not. A small, petty victory. She swallowed, blinking hard, before replying to Nienor. “It was... a way for my captor to express displeasure, punishing me by rending my hair from my head. It hurt, so when I escaped, I... wanted to make sure it couldn't happen again, so...” she gestured at her bare head. “I was not thinking clearly.”

There were tears on Nienor's face, but she nodded, speaking no further of the matter, for which Arwen was grateful. “Would you like some more tea?”

Arwen considered. Was she thirsty? It had been so long since her bodily needs were important that she no longer knew. But perhaps Nienor wanted an excuse to leave her presence. She nodded. “Yes, please.” This seemed the best way to ensure her being able to stay here in safety: preempt what her hosts wanted her to say or do, and act to please them (within reason- she would not be violated again). As long as Turin kept his distance from her, she would obey whatever they wished, in exchange for safety from the vampire Thuringwethil and from _him_.


	10. Chapter 10

_**Year 300 of the Third Age of Middle-Earth** _

Turin stood stock-still, concealed in the trees, an arrow drawn and aimed at the oblivious buck that stood downstream, a few yards ahead. If he managed this shot, he, Nienor and Arwen would have meat enough to see them through another winter. The season had grown harder each year, though they always found enough provisions to survive. Letting the arrow fly, he tracked its progress and shook his head. Had it truly been over five years since their return? Nearly six years... the longest he had ever gone hidden without Morgoth's curse finding him once more. The cottage he and Nienor had initially broken into remained undiscovered, and to his utter amazement, no-one had found them, enemy or otherwise.

Arwen had recovered what strength she could during those first few months, along with some incomplete, faded snatches of her memory, although the damage done to her had left marks that she would bear for life: Her hair had regrown, but it now grew as a mixture of black and silver streaks. She bore physical scars, obviously, and while no longer skeletally thin, she was still too slender. She ate well enough now, it was simply that she never gained weight. Nightmares still plagued her, and she disliked physical contact, but could tolerate it now. From Nienor at least. Turin himself, she avoided going too close to unless she had to, and probably always would. The biggest concern he still had- and Nienor shared- was Arwen's fear of being discovered once again. It had taken almost a full year before she would even set foot outside the cottage, and even now, she never ventured further than the river. But in fairness, it hardly mattered- they had no plans to remove elsewhere.

And besides, when she had regained the strength and courage to confide exactly what had happened to her while she was Morgoth's captive, he had concluded it was little wonder she felt such fear! Just thinking of the abuse she had described made Turin's blood boil, even now. Just because she looked like someone Morgoth bore a grudge against! He attempted to calm himself by thinking of how much progress she had made, speaking freely of the half-remembered time before her captivity, growing to trust Nienor, and later, Turin himself, providing a buffer between them when it was too awkward to talk, and, crucially, she had (unwittingly) helped them both see that they were no more to blame for their 'sins' than she was, although they had yet to sit down and talk about their pasts- it still felt too soon, and wrong to stir it all up again. Turin still carried an enormous weight of guilt, as he suspected Nienor did, though they were both aware that Morgoth was the true culprit and the only real enemy. Turin shook his head. Enough reminiscing- that would not see him and his blood-sister and heart-sister through another winter. Willing the thoughts away, and kneeling beside the fallen buck, he made sure it had died cleanly, and went to pluck the arrow from its body.

“Greetings, stranger!” An unfamiliar voice hailed him, and in seconds he was on his feet, dagger in hand, eyes scanning for the speaker.

An Elf dropped silently down to the ground from a tree directly in front of him, and he relaxed- slightly. It was doubtful this was an enemy, and yet... no Elf had gotten this close to this part of the woods, and the cottage, since his near-encounter with Galadriel and her cousin, years ago. How had this one stumbled across him now? Still, politeness would not kill him. He inclined his head, speaking in Sindarin. “Mae Govannen.” He offered the traditional greeting. Or it had been the traditional greeting eons ago, in Doriath.

A tap on his shoulder had him whirling around- to see the same Elf, clad in slightly different colors, standing _behind_ him. Shooting a glance back over his shoulder, he saw the first Elf still there, smirking. Comprehension dawned. “You are twins.”

“We are.” They spoke in eerie unison, both grinning, though their eyes were dark to those that knew how to look, clouded with long grief.

“I am Elladan.”

“And I am Elrohir.”

Turin immediately gave up hope of ever discerning which was which. “And what brings you here?” He was wary- he had been discovered, the last thing he wanted, and if he could not persuade these two to leave, he would expose Nienor, and Arwen, who he now viewed as another sister.

“We heard rumor of a family of Edain who somehow have managed to remain hidden for years despite the Enemy's growing strength, and wished to see for ourselves if there was truth in it.”

Turin folded his arms. “Who told you, and who sent you?”

The twins exchanged looks. “Does it matter? We are here to offer you and your family a chance to remove to a place of safety, where you will be protected. And I do not believe you gave us your name.”

Turin scowled. “No, and nor will I. As you've pointed out, my sisters and I have managed to remain safe here for years, and we have no desire to be 'removed' anywhere else. This is our home.” He took a deep breath to remain calm. “Go back to your Lord or King, whoever he is, and thank him for the offer, but we do not need aid or another home.” He turned and strode away without another word or glance back, leaving the stunned twins behind, taking every care to make sure they could not follow him.


	11. Chapter 11

Niënor smoothed the ruffled feathers of their youngest hen after removing the egg it had been sitting on and adding it to her small basket. Turin had found a group of chicks near an abandoned nest some years ago and, seeing the possibility of their own supply of eggs, had brought them back to the cottage and used fallen tree branches to build a small coop for them, next to the small garden Nienor and Arwen had brought new life to. It had presumably been planted by the original owners of the cottage, but it had reverted to a tangle of weeds that had gone unnoticed until Arwen finally gained the confidence to explore outside. She had recognized the leafy tops of carrots and potato plants amid the weeds, and she had been the one to tidy the mess into a workable garden. A type of wild grain grew there too, which they used to feed the birds.

Their best find, however, had been a young wild goat kid that had, initially, been a nuisance, eating half the garden's produce. Turin had been ready to use it for meat, but Nienor had gainsaid him, seeing that it was female and they could milk her when she grew old enough. So now she roamed the fenced-in land around the cottage, always coming at Arwen's call (if no-one else's) to provide milk for them, and being tethered at night for safety.

Carrying the eggs inside, Nienor found herself humming happily, smiling at Arwen, who sat in a corner, using an old spinning-wheel to turn goat's wool into thread. Nienor smiled at how relaxed their 'Elf-sister' was. She had grown fond of their life here, and since she and Turin had cleared the air somewhat, they no longer walked as if on eggshells around one another. Arwen had gone from strength to strength, and now was as well as she was likely to be, according to Turin. Nienor wished her chosen-sister was not so fearful of leaving their home still, but she supposed it was to be expected. And things could be worse. They were self-sufficient, had enough to live on, and answered only to themselves. Once in a while, guilt pricked at her. Turin, at least, was a strong warrior. Would he not be of more use aiding whatever resistance remained against the Enemy? Here, in this forest, in their cottage, they lived in a small, safe world, but there was more than that out there, they all knew it. But none of them truly wished to leave and face whatever awaited them in the outside world. Someday, Nienor knew, they must do so. But there was no need to race to meet the future. They had their home, and their makeshift family. That was all they needed.

Turin all but burst into the cottage, his pack sadly empty of any meat, and closed and latched the door rapidly behind him. His expression had both Nienor and Arwen on edge in seconds.

“What is it? What's happened?”

His scowl deepened. “I encountered two ellyn, less than two miles from here. They knew, or had heard rumors of, our dwelling here.”

“Who were they?” Nienor frowned. Had they been spied upon, for two Elves to come that close to their sanctuary?

“They were twins, and gave their names as Elladan and Elrohir. I knew them not, and sped them off, but they claimed to wish to bring us to some Elven settlement-” Turin broke off as Arwen lurched to her feet, nearly upsetting her spinning-wheel. “What is it?” He adopted the gentler tone he only ever used for her.

“Elladan and Elrohir?” Arwen's voice shook.

“You know them?”

“They... they are my older brothers.” Her eyes flashed, her expression torn between anger and pain. “I thought all my family slain, that that was why they did not come to save me from...” She broke off, her face crumpling, then glared up at nothing in particular, her eyes barely focusing. “And they are still alive, and free?!”

Arwen's eyes stung with tears. Her brothers, people she only had hazy recollections of, but whom she had once believed loved and would do anything for her, were alive and well. And, according to Turin, they were well enough off to be out looking for a group of Edain to offer them a safe haven. Where had they been, all the years she had been screaming in pain, praying and pleading silently for someone, anyone, to come and save her? Had they simply given her up for dead, not valuing her enough to brave Morgoth's fortress to reclaim her, instead focusing on rescuing and succoring those who would be easier to retrieve?

“Your _brothers_?” Nienor sounded stunned- and hurt. “You never mentioned...”

Arwen blinked back tears, refusing to let them fall. “You know my life before my captivity is but a faint memory. And I truly thought all my family dead. I did not keep knowledge of them from you deliberately, I swear.” Her fists clenched, the raised scars caused by her breaking her own right hand to escape her shackles, all those years ago, still clearly visible. “As far as I am concerned, they are dead to me. They left me to rot! I never heard a single word of anyone searching for me.” She looked up at Turin. “You did not tell them anything of me, did you?” _They do not deserve to know that I am still here. They have forgotten me, let it remain that way_.

“No.” Turin's face was sympathetic. “They believed all three of us to be Edain, of one family.” He gazed at her steadily. “I will not go against your wishes, you have been through enough, but, take it from someone who knows. Stewing in bitterness, willing yourself to hate those who love you.... it does no good in the end. You only hurt yourself and them.”

“Maybe I want to make them suffer.” Arwen muttered sullenly. “Besides, it doesn't matter. They left, you said, and I...” Here she shivered. “I cannot leave our home. I just can't.” The very thought had her skin rising in goose-bumps. Leaving the safety of the cottage and the forest, for good, traveling somewhere else, surrounded by large numbers of people she no longer knew, family or not, having to explain her story, deal with the looks of pity, horror and disgust she knew she would receive, while risking Morgoth or Thuringwethil getting wind that she still lived... A lump formed in her throat, terror causing nausea to churn in her stomach. “Please, please don't say we have to leave here!”

Turin and Nienor hastened to reassure her, but it helped little. She retired to her room, needing to be alone as she did at times. The siblings, left alone, exchanged looks, united in firm resolve. No-one would force them to leave this place. Not until they _all_ were ready to do so.


	12. Interlude

Gandalf strode out of the encampment, set up in what little remained of Thranduil's realm. Elrond's sons had just returned, bearing the disappointing but expected news that young Turin had been located but had refused to join the others here. Not that Elladan and Elrohir had any idea who the Adan was, of course. But now Gandalf had to pass on what had happened to his masters, little though he liked reporting ill tidings. The wards he had set to shield Turin, Nienor and poor, tormented Arwen Elrondiel from all eyes had held for years, but now the power he had set there wore thin. They _had_ to remove to this camp before it was too late and the Enemy tracked them down. Young Elrondiel had already endured Hell, and still suffered, and Turin was the best, if not the only hope this world had against Morgoth in the end. They had been given as much time as he could manage in solitude, to heal and to grow into who they were meant to be, but that time was passing. They needed to be brought to a more secure location. For now though, all he could do was pass on what had happened, and await commands for what to do next.

Gazing up at the sky towards the West, he intoned an ancient prayer in the Valarin tongue. An enormous Eagle, aglow with light, formed from sunlight and clouds, and yet again not, appeared, gazing down at him with enough benevolence to set him weeping. He inclined his head. “My lord Manwe.”

' _Olorin_.' The sound of His voice was heartbreaking, deafening, melodic and beautiful, all at once.

Quickly, Gandalf related what had happened between the sons of Elrond and Turin, then patiently waited to see if his Lord had further instructions.

The reply came not in words that any corporeal being would comprehend, but he understood what was to come, and bowed his head in gratitude and acceptance. The wind sounded like the cry of an eagle as this particular incarnation of Manwe seared brightly and was gone.

Gandalf, ever mindful of his duty, trudged back to the camp to inform the Elves that there would be three new arrivals to their small band soon. Three, because although only two were Children of Iluvatar, the third was no less valiant and deserved as much welcome as his companions, despite being a Hound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Olorin; Gandalf's real name, known to very few beings outside Valinor.  
> Elrondiel: daughter of Elrond.


	13. Chapter 13

Turin was outdoors, still angry about the encounter with Arwen's brothers some weeks ago, and how unsettled and afraid she had been since. This was how she had been during her first days awake, years ago, as if no progress had been made at all. Once again, she was refusing to even set foot outside, not even to see to her precious garden. He was venting his frustration and helplessness at not being able to really reassure her by viciously cutting up firewood, using far more force than was needed.

“Are you cutting firewood or matchsticks?” A deep, jovial voice queried. Turin straightened in seconds, the hatchet now in his hand, grasped like a weapon, not a tool. A elderly man with a thick, long grey beard, clad in grey robes and a strange pointed hat, leaned on a staff, peering over the makeshift gate at him, dark eyes twinkling merrily, though the expression on his lined face was serious.

Turin did not appreciate the man's levity. “Who are you? How did you find this place?”

“Straight to the point, I see. Melian did say you tended to be blunt, son of Hurin. Very well. I found this place because I have always known of it. I was the one who inspired you and your sister to find it, all those years ago. Then I guided poor Arwen towards it when she fled from Thuringwethil.”

Turin had tensed when the Man revealed he knew who he was, but the rest of his words... he stepped back, eyes narrowed warily. “You're no Man.”

The being chuckled. “Indeed not.” He paused. “It surely occurred to you that it is odd for you to have had peace for so long, not one living being coming within a mile of this place for over five years?”

“I suppose you will claim that was your doing too.” Turin scrutinized the being. For all he appeared a Mortal man, aged and frail, something was... off, some hint of Power behind those wise eyes. And he claimed to know Melian... “Are you a Maia?”

He nodded. “Though, in this Age, the Elves call me Mithrandir, or Gandalf in the Common Tongue. You may use whichever name you wish.”

“And if I choose to call you unwelcome, despite whatever aid you claim to have provided us?”

Gandalf leaned on the gate. “Now why would you do that?”

“Perhaps because I do not recall asking for your help at any point.”

“So you would have refused it, even with your own safety, and your sister's, and Arwen's, at risk?” Gandalf raised a bushy eyebrow, waiting for a reply.

Turin looked away first, feeling a rush of shame. Of course he would not have endangered Nienor or Arwen, but... when he had first returned, he had been so bitter, he might well have done just that.

“So, you see, this time of peace has done you some good.” Gandalf almost seemed to be replying to Turin's very thoughts. “You have had time to learn some measure of wisdom and humility, if not as much as you might.”

Turin chose to ignore that. “Why show yourself now? Do you wish for a show of gratitude?”

“Hmm? No, no. Merely to check on you all, and also, sadly, to bear bad news. My power to guard this place is not limitless. I have given you as long as I can, concealed from prying eyes, but that time is drawing to an end.”

Turin's heart thumped. “You're saying that we will be discovered by the Enemy soon.”

“You may indeed, if you remain here for too long. Your best chance now is to join the Elves who still fight for this world. Hiding from it will serve you no longer.”

“I... I don't think you understand. Arwen.... she is in no condition to leave. She refuses to even set foot outside for fear of being caught by the Enemy again, and has no desire to rejoin her own kind...”

“And yet, if you remain here for more than a mere few months, the Enemy _will_ find you. What will become of young Arwen, and you and Nienor, then?”

Turin cursed under his breath.

“I can give you another half-year at most. But then you _must_ depart this place. You will have to find a way to convince Arwen to do so. Stay, and her fate will be far worse than death. Half a year, no longer.” A white stone atop his staff glowed, the light drawing Turin's gaze. Images flashed into his mind- the woods swarming with Orcs, Thuringwethil looming overhead, wings unfurled and fangs gleaming, the cottage aflame, Nienor being dragged off by Orcs, screaming, the vampire pouncing, seizing a cowering Arwen and vanishing into the starless night sky, laughing triumphantly...

Turin stepped back, closing his eyes, horrified at those dark visions, but refusing to show it. By the time he glanced back up, Gandalf had simply vanished, as if he had not been there at all. Groaning softly, Turin put his head in his hands. He had no doubt that what he had been shown was the truth, but finding a way to convince Arwen and Nienor that they had to leave their quiet home, without frightening them both to death... how could he ever do that?


	14. Chapter 14

Arwen busied herself tidying up in the small kitchen. It did not really need tidying, but it gave her something to do to keep busy. She had not been able to settle to anything since Turin had mentioned encountering Elladan and Elrohir, not helped by the fact that, not long after, Turin had started seeming worried, continually stealing glances at her, but not saying anything. That only added to her unease. Had he decided it would be better to send her away, back to the family that had forgotten or simply given up on her? She prayed that wasn't so- here, she knew she was safe, and protected. She had grown to love these two Mortals, viewing them as family now, and her life here felt far more real than anything that had been before- her parents, grandparents and brothers, though she knew they existed, might as well have been snatches of a remembered dream. The very thought of being sent away from her little cosy home made her gasp, struggling to catch her breath. If she left, she just knew, her birth 'family' would not protect her- they hadn't before. Thuringwethil would find her again and drag her back to Morgoth, and if that happened, she would never, ever, escape again. That couldn't happen, it just couldn't. Somehow she had to persuade Turin and Nienor that it was better for her to stay with them. _If they try to force me to leave them, I will end myself. Better than being taken captive once more_.

Unbidden, a faint recollection of her childhood sprang to her mind- she was in a courtyard, mock-sparring with one of her brothers, she couldn't recall which, using tree branches in place of blades. She swiped at his legs and he fell dramatically, proclaiming her the winner and the superior warrior. He'd been feigning it, of course, but back then, she hadn't minded. Their joyful laughter echoed, bringing the sting of tears to her eyes as the memory faded. Deep within her mind, a faint, fraying link that she knew led to the twins' minds, that had once been bright and strong, flickered. Tears rolled down her face and her stomach churned, this time with nerves. How had she forgotten that she could do this? Did she dare to reach out across that bond? Did her brothers deserve such a thing after forgetting she even existed when she had needed them the most? And yet... she did want to know, if she could find out: how would they react if they sensed her? Would they be pleased? Guilty? Disappointed? Holding her breath, she sent the tiniest 'nudge' along the bond, enough that they would feel it, but not be able to locate her or communicate- she was not willing to go that far.

The sensation she picked up in reply was overwhelming- shock, disbelief, and uncontrollable joy.

' _A-Arwen?'_

It was more a sensation of recognition than a spoken word, and the 'voice' quavered with doubt and hope. She could not tell which twin had attempted to reach out to her, but it mattered not. It was too much. She forced them from her mind, concentrating on shielding as hard as she could, blocking everything out. Their clear joy at 'hearing' from her had thrown her. They seemed so overjoyed and dazed to learn that she still lived now, but then... why hadn't they looked for her when she had truly needed their help?

* * *

Elladan was drawing back his bow for a shot at the target set up in the distance, training, as he and Elrohir always did when forced to return to the camp and 'rest', when something tugged at his mind and he froze, the bow and arrow falling from his suddenly nerveless hands. The sensation of another mind brushing against his, the re-awakening of an almost utterly broken link, between his mind and one that had once been nearly as familiar to him as his twin's... “ _A-Arwen?_ ” He sent her name out, trembling, not even daring to breathe. Could it be, truly, after so long? Why had she only reached out _now_ , after more than twenty years?

Abruptly, the tenuous link was blocked, ended with the force of his running face-first into a wall. His heart lurched in horror. No, not now! But try as he might, he could not contact her again. The link was still there, but there was silence. Had she reached out, only to choose to block him from her thoughts? Why? His nails dug into his hands. It was real, it had to be, or he would lose his mind. Leaving his bow and quiver abandoned on the field, he raced for the camp. If what he had just sensed had been real, then as close as he and Elrohir were, his twin had to have felt it too. His heart pounded as he drew near to the tent he and his brother shared, fear and anticipation warring within him.

Elrohir was on his knees just outside the tent, his head bowed. As Elladan raced over, he raised his head, tears on his cheeks and a brittle smile on his face, a look of desperate hope in his eyes.

“El- did you... I felt... was it really...?”

A lump formed in Elladan's throat as he nodded. _I_ _t was real. Arwen was alive, and she had reached out to them_. They had no idea where she was, or how to find her, but _she was alive._

Elrohir staggered to his feet, clasping his brother's arms, staring straight at him. “We were right,” he choked out. “Despite what everyone said, she _is_ still out there.”

The relief, and the guilt for not finding her, were enormous, weighing both twins down, even as they both wanted to laugh with delight. Their sister was alive!

Elrohir, ever the practical one, sighed. “No-one will believe us, El. They never did before.”

“They will once we find her.” Elladan stated firmly. “And we _will_. Somehow.”

Elrohir inhaled shakily and nodded. The moment was broken by a commotion near the camp entrance, and both twins turned to look. Two figures approached, accompanied by a large animal of some kind, a horse, judging by the size alone, but with the distance between the twins and the newcomers, and the crowd now flocking towards them, it was impossible to see more. Exchanging looks, the twins joined the throng to see who the new arrivals were and what might be causing all the cries of disbelief, fear and joy from those who had gotten close enough to get a better look at them.


	15. Chapter 15

Nienor grimaced, wondering how, exactly, she had ended up being the one having to broach this subject- that they might, someday soon, have to leave their home- with Arwen. Something had happened, a strange meeting between Turin and a being that might have been a Maia, not long ago. Nienor did not know what had been said between them, but Turin had suddenly become fixed upon the idea that they needed to prepare for the chance that they might soon have to leave this place, and decide where they were to go if that happened. Knowing full well it would be nigh impossible to convince Arwen that such a thing might become necessary, yet also aware that arguing with Turin was futile, Nienor had been torn on what to do. She was forced to admit that Turin had a point- they could not remain here for eternity. But with Arwen's unshakable fear of being found by the Enemy, or by Thuringwethil once more, if she ventured far from this place, persuading her to leave would take months, at the very least.

And so, today, Turin had 'nominated' her to cautiously bring up the subject- not to frighten Arwen, but simply to plant the seed of the idea, and, if possible, try to learn more of her brothers and any other kin she might have- that knowledge could help them decide where to go if and when they departed these woods.

Arwen was feeding the hens, looking up with her usual half-smile when Nienor approached. “Shouldn't you be preparing lunch? Or is it my turn?” She looked troubled, as if she thought she might have forgotten.

“No, it's my turn today, but there's no rush, is there? It's not as if there is a schedule we have to keep to here.”

“No...” Arwen must have heard something in her voice, because her expression became wary.

“I was just wondering... the other day, you mentioned your brothers.” She tried to smile. “Are they anything like Turin? He's the only example I have of a brother, so I'm curious to know how different yours are- or were, back when...” It was plausible as an excuse- her relationship with Turin was far from a normal sibling bond- they still struggled to be around one another, without Arwen present.

Arwen's expression shuttered, and she turned away from her. “I really don't want to speak about them, if you don't mind.”

“But... surely they'd want to know that you're alive, and safe now...?” Nienor scrambled to find words, knowing she was making a mess of this, but not seeing any other way to open Arwen's eyes.

“Perhaps.” Arwen's voice was icy. “But they cared nothing when Thuringwethil stole me, they did not prevent it.”

“So you would punish them for something they could not prevent? Unless you mean to say they simply stood there and watched when the vampire took you?” Turin's voice, usually so gentle with Arwen, now held an edge of scorn. Nienor winced, sure that Arwen would simply shut down now, refuse to engage at all, and willing Turin to silence.

“No, of course not!” Arwen snapped, whirling on him, her black-and-silver braids whipping behind her. “But...”

“But you were told, while captive, that they had abandoned and forgotten you.” Turin stared Arwen straight in the eyes. “And you do remember whose mouths that information came from? You'd believe the vampire and her master without proof, without even _hearing_ your brothers' side of the story?”

Arwen stared at him for a long moment, her mouth opening and closing as her face whitened, then she let out a sound between a scream and a sob as her face crumpled. All but throwing the feed sack to the floor, she turned and raced inside, the door slamming, sobs echoing behind her.

Nienor's hand itched to slap Turin, seeing Arwen so distraught. She settled for giving him a hefty shove, making him stagger. “What in blazes did you do that for?!”

Turin's gaze was on the cottage, his brow furrowed, a sorrowful look in his eyes. “Sometimes things need to be thrown in your face before you can bring yourself to deal with them. Leave her be for a while, Nienor. She needs to have this out with herself, if she's ever to find a way to move on from here.”

Nienor got the feeling he meant more than 'move on from living in this cottage' but did not dare ask what he meant, the haunted look in his eyes making words shrivel in her throat. She just prayed to whomever might listen that Turin's 'shock-of-immersion-in-cold-water' approach did not do Arwen more harm than good.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arwen deals with some trauma in this chapter, experiencing real memories, distorted memories, flashbacks, and snatches of foresight. Sorry if it's confusing.

Arwen sat curled in a ball on her bed, breathing heavily. Turin's words- about her believing Morgoth's lies- had shaken her, and she was, for the first time in a long time, trying to remember her life before being captured clearly. Surely she could not have been deceived _that_ much? But her memory was so vague, so disjointed... Her hands gripped her hair as she rocked back and forth, trying to force some semblance of order on the memories and images now cascading through her mind.

_She was sparring with one of her brothers in the courtyard while the other laughed and called out advice. Morgoth's gaze seared down upon them, calling her by the name that was not hers, but she was unable to scream, or run, or do anything at all. Elladan and Elrohir noticed nothing, or so it seemed._

_Rivendell was in flames, Orcs rampaging everywhere, the bodies of her family and friends, Turin and Nienor among them, in plain view, while Thuringwethil held her fast and forced her to gaze upon them. “All this is your fault,” the vampire gloated. “You caused this. They all died in pain because you chose to flee from what you deserved.” Arwen struggled and screamed denials, but her voice would not work._

_She was curling up in her Naneth's arms, safe and warm, while Maglor played his harp and Adar sang a tale of the Elder Days._

_She cowered in a dark corner of the fortress, too afraid to even stir the air with her breath as Thuringwethil screeched, thundering through each passage looking for her, becoming angrier each minute she was delayed in dragging Arwen before Morgoth_.

 _Adar was soothing her, even as he healed the bumps and bruises she'd gotten when she had tumbled down a flight of stairs_.

_Thuringwethil hissed insults, lashing out at her with her fists and her iron-tipped wings, opening gashes with each blow, punishing Arwen for hiding from Morgoth's 'favor'._

_Elladan and Elrohir were smiling proudly as she sang one of the hymns of praise to Eru performed at Midsummer, a celebration at which all the Elves of Rivendell were present._

_Thuringwethil spied on that same scene, sneering, waiting to seize Arwen and beat her again while her brothers stayed calm and happy, oblivious to the threat._

_Naneth and Adar walked on a beach, with Cirdan the Shipwright, a small silver-haired Elfling running ahead of them, giggling_.

 _Morgoth was seated on an iron throne, with the Silmarils, all three, in his Iron Crown, while Thuringwethil- no, not Thuringwethil, she had been told this tale enough times to know how this ended- flitted closer, a huge werewolf slinking beneath her, edging closer to the black throne and its occupant. “ **Remember this, my little bird. This is why you now receive my attentions**.” Morgoth's voice was both gloating and... wistful, almost_.

_Daernaneth, Daeradar and Maglor were in a camp of some kind, in Thranduil's realm of Mirkwood, face to face with the most beautiful elleth Arwen had ever seen. At her side stood a Mortal Man. They were deep in conversation, and all seemed worried._

_She was being pinned to the cold stone floor of Morgoth's throne room, screaming and struggling, while he held her down and.._.

She curled further into herself as the memories and illusions mixed and jumbled, hands gripping her hair, tearing some strands from her scalp, the familiar pain helping to ground her in the here and now. She wanted to scream until this maelstrom in her mind ceased. Which parts of that had been real, and which had not?

Why could she not tell?


	17. Chapter 17

Turin endured the next few days in silence, guilt gnawing at him. Arwen had eventually emerged from her room, ashen-faced and eyes red-rimmed, but she had not spoken. Not once, to him or to Nienor. His sister had added to the atmosphere by glowering at him every chance she got, making it clear she held him responsible for Arwen's distress. She was right, he knew that, but he had seen no other way to break through Arwen's self-inflicted denial. She needed to face what she had lived through, and grasp that despite everything, she _had_ survived and would continue to do so, and that would not happen if she forever blocked the past from her thoughts. A part of him knew that was hypocritical of him- how long had he spent, in his prior life, drawing a line under certain events and starting afresh? But he would not dwell on that. He had actual sins to atone for. Arwen did not, regardless of what she believed.  
  
Besides, she was still eating, and going through life as she had for years now, it was merely the lack of speech that was disconcerting. Perhaps she was merely lost in thought, trying to work through things, and would speak once more when she felt ready to do so.  
  
He hoped so, at any rate. If that were not the case.... his stomach churned. If he had done some irreparable harm in his clumsy attempts to help Arwen deal with her past... If that were so, he would never forgive himself for harming her, as he had so many others, with his well-intentioned stupidity. Would he never truly be able to simply do good without it misfiring and hurting someone he cared about?

Arwen, at present, was adding wood to the small fire, coaxing it to grow to ward off the evening chill. She had to be aware of Turin's eyes on her, but she did not react, or turn.  
  
He cleared his throat. "Arwen?"  
  
She stiffened, but gave no other indication that she had heard him.  
  
"What I said... I didn't mean to hurt or scare you, I only wanted..." What? What had he been trying to prove, by _f_ _orcing_ her to deal with her memories? Dealing with trauma in such a way would once have helped him, perhaps, but mayhap he had been mistaken in assuming it would be the same for his Elf-sister. What did he know, after all? He was no healer, of body or of mind. "I'm sorry."  
  
Still refusing to face him, she gave a small gesture that might have been a shrug of her shoulders. Finishing with the fire, she stood, turned, still managing to avoid his gaze, and retreated to her room.  
  
Turin's shoulders slumped, but he knew better than to become a threatening figure by following her- one thing he had _always_ done since piecing together her story was to give her space, not violate what little privacy and security she had, that she depended on.  
  
What had he done? Their sibling-like bond might well be gone for good, because of his rash actions. She might never trust him again, and that hurt him deeply. Would he _never_ be able to provide help without causing harm? He had truly believed he had overcome Morgoth's curse that blighted his every step but now... now he was no longer certain of that.  
  
What could he do to help Arwen now?


	18. Chapter 18

Elladan and Elrohir privately thought that everyone in their camp was in a state of complete and utter shock that had affected their wits, caused by the inexplicable return of Luthien and Beren to life, along with Huan. Everyone was acting like the war was already half done, that the Enemy was somehow less of a threat now. Nonsense, in their opinions. Fine, people returning from the Doom of Men was unheard of, but it didn't necessarily _mean_ anything. They themselves tried to keep busy, to avoid their ancestors. Not only was it odd, to say the least, to suddenly have their great-great grandparents prominently in their lives, but seeing Luthien, in reality... it was a constant harsh reminder of Arwen. She truly had taken after their ancestress, alike enough to have been her twin, and having Luthien in the camp only added salt to the wound of Arwen still being lost.  
  
Daernaneth, Daeradar and Maglor, of course, had informed their newly-alive-once-again kin that Arwen had died not long after this war had begun, making both twins seethe- even after they had confided, _in private_ , with their family, that they had sensed Arwen through their sibling bond, not long ago, they _still_ were not believed. So now they slipped away from the camp, an hour before dawn, with enough supplies to last some time in the wild. They were heavily armed, of course, but even so, this venture was risky. But what choice did they have? If none would take their word and help them find their sister, they would simply have to do it themselves. Even if their only plan was to depart the camp, find as secure a place as they could, and have one stand guard while the other did all they could to re-establish a bond with Arwen. If luck was with them, they might be able to communicate with her, get her to give them some indication of how to find her, so they could bring her to the camp, to safety- and prove wrong all those who thought them unhinged by grief.  
  
As they set off into the woods, heading for the edge of Thranduil's realm, evading the guards, they never noticed the curious four-legged companion that stole after them.  
  
Huan, moving in near-silence despite his size, puzzled over where these pups of his master's and mistress' pedigree were going, and why. They should stay here, where there were others, and remain safe! But his ability to speak had not returned as he had, much to his consternation, and it made communication difficult. At the very least, he could follow and guard them until they came back. His mistress and master were safe here. The pups, heading off alone, were not.  
  
His tail wagged as he effortlessly followed the twins' scent-trail, appearing little more than a grey shadow in the pre-dawn light.

* * *

Elladan and Elrohir traveled some leagues before halting and looking about them, trying to decide if this place would be safe enough for them to halt and begin reaching out in their minds for their sister. Care would be needed, of course- bond to Arwen or no, exposing their minds, with the Enemy out there, left them vulnerable. But they were both determined on this- they just _had_ to find her.  
  
Elrohir glanced around suddenly, blinking. "Wait. Are these not the woods that those mortals were said to dwell in? This is the very clearing where we saw that Man, some months ago, isn't it?"  
  
Elladan started, his eyes narrowing. "It is. But... we did not mean to come here, did we?" In truth, they had not discussed where they might go, but finding their way back to this exact place... it was odd.  
  
"No." Elrohir shrugged. "But it seems as good a place as any to begin our plan." He was, in truth, as unnerved by his brother at the fact that they had, walking aimlessly, found their way back here, but still... it was only a forest, smaller than Thranduil's, but still a forest, where birds sang and the track of animals could be seen- he froze. "El."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Unless something has changed of late, have not almost all wild beasts gone into hiding, even in our camp?"  
  
"Yes, the Enemy's taint of the land, and his forces, has made them flee or conceal themselves. That is why hunting has become so difficult, and we must go so far afield to find food. You _know_ that." Elladan's tone was impatient, as if he thought his brother was wasting his time.  
  
Elrohir narrowed his eyes, gesturing around them. "So it is. And yet, stand and listen."  
  
Elladan, looking skeptical, did so. When the woodland chorus reached his ears, and its meaning sank in, his eyes widened. "What..."  
  
"Evidently no-one told the animals of this forest that there is an ongoing war."  
  
They were silent for some time. This made little sense. Why should this one small forest, so close to where their camp lay, as the eagle flew, be thriving in such a way? It perhaps explained why Mortals had settled here- it would be a simple thing to live off the land in such a place- but that did not explain _how_ this place went unaffected by the plight of the world without.  
  
Uneasy now, they glanced around, their hearts pounding. Was this real, or some illusion set by the Enemy or one of his servants?  
  
A twig snapped nearby and both twins whirled, hands going to their chosen weapons- Elladan's sword and Elrohir's bow. Their silver-grey eyes locked on the break in the trees where the sound had issued from, both tense as bowstrings.  
  
A great furry head emerged, peering at them, tongue lolling out over canines as long as their own hands, and both exhaled loudly.  
  
"Huan! What are you doing here?!"  
  
He let out a whine that sounded almost as if he was recriminating _them_.  
  
They exchanged looks. Had the Hound followed them since they left the camp? They both reddened at the thought- if so, they had noticed nothing. Had they truly been so distracted?  
  
He still gazed at them, unblinking.  
  
Elrohir, recalling that Huan understood speech, decided to try reason. "Huan, we are simply doing some hunting. We are perfectly safe. Could you not return to the camp and guard the others?"  
  
In response, he yawned, then laid down, keeping his focus on the twins. Clearly, he did not intend to go anywhere until they did. Sighing, they exchanged looks. Now what were they to do?  
  
Elladan was thinking quickly. Huan was meant to be the greatest hound of all time, and he understood speech (somehow). If, perhaps, they _told_ him what they were trying to do, could he help them? More to the point, would he? His loyalty, as they understood it, was to Beren and Luthien, but... they were family also, as was Arwen... Catching Elrohir's gaze, he raised his brows, trying to communicate his thoughts to his twin.  
  
Elrohir, having had many similar thoughts, shrugged. What harm could it do? Huan had no way of _forcing_ them back to the camp if he disagreed. He sat down near the great Hound, and sighed. "Alright. We're not actually hunting for food."  
  
Huan snorted, rolling his eyes, as if to say, No, really?  
  
Taking a deep breath, Elrohir began to explain. About Arwen, their lives together, so long ago now, how much they loved her, how she had been taken captive, and that none but they believed her alive, despite the recent incident where her mind had touched theirs. He was blinking back tears by the time he had finished, so great was the desperation he felt. Elladan was visibly distraught too. "Will you help us? Please? We just _have_ to find her..."  
  
Huan looked from one twin to the other, then stood. His tail wagged, and he whined, lowering his head as if nodding. He licked Elrohir's hand, then Elladan's. He stretched, then looked around, then back at the twins, as if to say 'Where to begin?'  
  
Elrohir's breath caught in his throat as something occurred to him. "Huan, just how good at locating scent are you? If we gave you something with Arwen's scent... it's old, so I don't know how good it will be..."  
  
Huan huffed, trotting over to Elrohir, nostrils flaring.  
  
Hands almost trembling, Elrohir reached into the airtight leather pouch he had worn about his neck for the last two decades. It contained the silver-and-mithril pendant necklace set with white stones that had been the only trace they had ever found of Arwen. Before that, she had worn it all her life. Elrohir had kept it as a vow of sorts- someday, he _would_ return it to her. If anything held any trace of her scent now, it would- she had worn it for over forty years of the Sun. Grasping it gently, he offered it to Huan for the hound to sniff. "Arwen..." Emotion choked his words. "She always wore this. We found it on the ground, after Thuringwethil and her forces attacked, when our home was destroyed."  
  
Huan sniffed at the pendant a few times, then visibly twitched, whipped around, away from the twins, and put his nose to the floor, sniffing frantically. He all but ran off, nose still near the ground, tail wagging nineteen to the dozen. A single loud bark, as the hound glanced back at them, was a clear command of ''Come along!''  
  
The twins exchanged looks, their hearts pounding. It could not be. The coincidence was absurd. They decide to go and seek Arwen, stumble upon this forest once more, Huan decides to follow them, and already he had caught her scent? More likely Huan had made a mistake, they both decided silently, but that did not stop them from following, that deadly, insidious thing called hope getting its claws into them. As they chased Huan, struggling to keep the hound in sight, the thought pounding with every heartbeat, for both of them, was _what if?_

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a work in progress that's been ongoing for a while. I've been in two minds about publishing, but I just decided to bite the bullet, post everything I have in one go, and see what people think. Feedback is welcome!


	19. Chapter 19

Nienor walked through the woods, in no real hurry. She had told the others that she had gone to fetch wild mushrooms, adding to their food supply before winter truly set in, but in fact she had left in the hopes that if she were not there, Turin and Arwen might actually speak to one another, at last. The prolonged silence between them was ridiculous and getting on her nerves, and she had no idea how to break it.

Spotting a clutch of mushrooms growing in the shadow of a log, she crouched to examine them, to ensure they were edible- she did not want a repeat of the time she had gathered the wrong type. She and Turin had spent the entire next day being ill, and cursing Elvish constitution, as Arwen had been unaffected.

The loud noise of a lone dog bark made her start, and she got cautiously to her feet. A dog? If it was someone's hunter or pet, then she might have to hide to avoid being seen. If it was a wild dog of some kind... she scanned her surroundings for the nearest tree she could climb. A wild dog could be feral, and dangerous. Ascending a tree would put her out of harm's way.

No further sound came, though, for some minutes, and she frowned, confused. Had she imagined hearing the bark?

Thudding paws, and snapping twigs, the noise faint but getting louder, proved that she hadn't. She glanced about wildly, trying to work out where the dog was approaching from, but she was not at all prepared for the enormous shape that came pounding through the trees. She'd never seen a hound so large! Stunned, sure her eyes were tricking her, she remained still, frozen with shock, and the hound, intent on whatever it was tracking, its nose to the ground, did not notice her- until it ploughed straight _into_ her, knocking her off her feet. She toppled to the ground with a shriek.

The dog, already having torn past her, skidded to a halt and turned, panting heavily, its grey head tilted to one side, as if puzzled by the sight of her. Seconds later, as she scrambled to her feet, two dark haired Men- no, Elves, she realized, spying their pointed ears, raced into the clearing, stopping short at the sight of Nienor.

Covered in mud and leaves from her fall, Nienor brushed herself down, her face reddening, and stood as straight as she could, facing them. _Twins?_ That was an enormous coincidence- if it was such a thing. Could these be Arwen's brothers, searching for her? How had they found this place, and why now? (She did not recall their names- both were El-something, but their exact names escaped her.) "I assume this is your dog?" She gestured towards the gargantuan hound, who was paying little attention to them, having moved to the other side of the clearing, still sniffing the ground as if searching for whatever scent it had been following.

“Yes, uh, I mean, sort of.” One of the twins spoke, looking flustered. “He belongs- or is a companion to- some of our kin. He is just.. helping us today. We apologize for his enthusiasm. He doesn't usually bowl people over, not that we've seen anyway, my lady...?” He trailed off, perhaps realizing he had not asked for her name amidst his babbling. His cheeks turned red.

The dog, meanwhile, seemed to have found its mark, because its tail wagged, but then it loped towards Nienor, whining as if confused, sniffing at her. She stepped back, carefully. It sniffed at her again, then went and sniffed at something one of the twins held, letting out another confused whine.

“Huan, what is it?” The other twin, the one who had not addressed her, asked, frowning.

 _Huan?_ Nienor started. She had heard many tales of a hound of great size with that name, but surely this could not possibly be... _And why not? You and Turin were returned without true explanation, why not others?_ The dog- Huan- sniffed at Nienor insistently once more, before whining and looking between her and the twins, ears flat, clearly confused. The twins exchanged looks, and after a moment, one spoke slowly, obviously choosing his words with care. "We are... searching for someone. Huan seems to believe you may have encountered them at some point, for he scents them on you."  
  
Nienor cursed silently. Of course Arwen's scent was noticeable around her, they had lived together for five years, and gowns were traded between them every so often. In fact, the one she wore now had been made for Arwen- she had only worn it today because its dark fabric was better suited to traveling through the woods, and most of her own gowns were white or similar pale colors. But what was she to say now? Arwen did not want to be revealed, her actions had made that clear, and regardless of what Nienor thought of that decision, she _should_ abide by it. But, then again, the twins had come this far, and the desperate hope in their eyes... How could she, who knew what it was to live without kin, deny them the knowledge that their sister lived? Besides, she reflected, if, eventually, these siblings did reunite, the twins would need to be aware of the fact that the Arwen they would meet was not the same Arwen they had once known. She took a deep breath.  
  
"If I said I might know whom you speak of, what would you do?" She watched them warily.  
  
They exchanged furtive looks once more before replying. "Either ask you to take us to... this person, so we know you do not lie, or simply follow you to your dwelling to find out for ourselves."  
  
She had been afraid of that. "And if I were to say it is best you do not immediately force the issue?"  
  
Silence. "Why would it not be?" One of the twins asked, after some time.  
  
"Because... the one you seek..." Nienor decided it was time to cease playing coy. "Arwen," She ignored the gasps from the twins as she confirmed their sister's presence. "Has suffered a great deal since you last saw her. She was... held captive, I know not how long for exactly, not knowing the precise year that she was taken, but she will never be as she was. She escaped around... five years ago," It had been slightly longer than that, but best not make it sound as if Arwen had been deliberately held back from her kin. "My brother and I found her when she escaped somehow, and stumbled upon our home, injured and weak. We took her in, and she has dwelled with us since. Only lately has she been well enough to even recall that you, and her other kin, existed."  
  
One of the twins stepped forward, eyes blazing. "You have given shelter to her for _years_ and never thought to try and send word of her to anyone?!"  
  
Nienor felt her own temper flash, but restrained it. He had a right to his anger, but he did not know all the details. "My brother and I... we keep to ourselves. We had no way of sending a message, and we know none to send it to, even if-" She cut herself off. Arwen's brothers might not want to hear that she did not wish to see them. Not yet.  
  
The other twin placed a hand upon his brother's shoulder- in warning? His silver eyes, a lighter version of Arwen's tumultuous grey, bored into Nienor's. "You have lived a mere few leagues from an Elven realm, in a war torn land, for years, and yet claim to know no Elves besides Arwen?" The doubt was clear in his voice. "Who are you?"  
  
Nienor gulped. This might be too much for them to accept, if she told them, and yet... Huan, the hound who had perished in the First Age, stood beside them, so there was no reason they should not believe her, if they accepted that. Turin would not approve of this- she could hear him shouting already- but if Arwen was to be restored to her kin, and they were to someday join with the Elves in this war, then they could not remain concealed forever. Surely it was better to start small, inform a few people at a time?  
  
The twins and Huan all stared at her, clearly waiting for a reply. They would likely think her mad for claiming to be who she was, but she took a deep breath nonetheless, standing straight and meeting their gazes steadily as she spoke. "I am Nienor, daughter of Hurin and Morwen."


	20. Chapter 20

Nienor fidgeted with her hands, feeling uncomfortable as the twins carried out a heated debate in Sindarin, the language of the Elves of Doriath, that she did not understand much of. Presumably they were trying to decide if they believed her or not, since she had just told them who she was. Huan, who had paced back and forth for the first ten minutes or so of this argument, then laid down in front of Nienor, yawning to demonstrate how tedious he found this, now got to his feet, facing the bickering twins, and let out a short sharp bark, making both the Elves jump.

One of the twins (she still had not the faintest idea which was which, nor did she know their names) turned to look at her, eyes narrowed. “We see no reason to disbelieve your identity-”

“Stranger things have happened lately,” The other twin cut in.

“But if you- and your brother- really dwell with Arwen, then you will be able to tell us what she looks like.” The first twin concluded, folding his arms.

Nienor swallowed, knowing this would prove difficult. These two probably recalled their sister in full health, and she, despite the years that she had been free, looked far from that. “You must remember that when we first found her, she had just escaped captivity. She was skeletally thin, missing most of her hair, and covered in scars.”

Both twins flinched, and too late Nienor realized that perhaps she should have phrased that more gently. “She has regained some weight, but is still very thin. Her hair... I assume it was once long and black, like yours, but now it is shot through with white, and it barely passes her shoulders. Her face is beautiful, even haunted as it is, and her eyes are a dark stormy-grey. Darker than yours.”

The two Elves exchanged looks. Nienor hoped her words were enough to convince them. Surely they could not believe that Arwen would look exactly as she used to after being missing for so long, with the Enemy in power?

“Is she... is she alright?” Both twins were pale, and the one that had spoken choked on the words, emotion making his voice crack.

 _Best not to lie to them_. “She is better than she was when she first joined us, but... she still has problems. Nightmares, wariness of physical contact, and fear of being captured again. She rarely leaves our home, and...” She shook her head. “Her memories of her life before she was taken captive are... faint. I honestly don't know how much of it she remembers, beyond that you two, and other family, do in fact exist.” Nienor stopped herself there, as both twins had tears in their eyes now, and to have told them any more, such as precisely what had happened to their sister at the Enemy's hands, would be a violation of Arwen's trust. It should be up to her if and when she told them something like that- her wishes had been disregarded enough for a lifetime already.

The tears were falling from the twins' eyes now. Huan was whining gently, nudging at them, licking their hands as if in comfort.

“We always knew she was out there somewhere,” One of them managed, “No-one believed us, but we knew.”

“She must think we gave up on her,” The other's voice was flat, defeated. “We sensed.... her mind reached out to ours not long ago, but then she pushed us away. Will she even want to see us?”

Nienor hesitated. “I honestly don't know.” She could not speak for Arwen. But, now she had revealed all this, how could she simply tell the twins to leave without seeing the sister they clearly loved and missed greatly? And if they spoke the truth, and Arwen had attempted to make contact, even if she had then changed her mind, then surely seeing them in person could not hurt?

It could, of course. Not hurt Arwen, precisely- though it might well do that- but also, when Turin learned that she had revealed herself, and him, and Arwen, to these two, he would not be pleased...

As if he had somehow read her mind, one of the twins, wiping tears from his cheeks, suddenly stared at her. “Some time ago, we discovered a Man hunting in these woods, tall, dark haired, very fair of face. If you truly are who you claim to be, then... would that have been...?”

“Turin, yes.” Nienor threw caution to the wind- she had started this, no point in keeping secrets now. “It was because he told us that he had seen you, and gave us your names,” That she still could not recall, “That was how Arwen remembered you clearly for the first time.”

One of the ellyn let out a strangled gasp, of relief or despair, it was impossible to tell. “So you do dwell in these woods.”

Biting her lip, still nervous about how Turin would take this, Nienor nodded.

“This may seem random, but... the animals here, they are plentiful enough for you to live on?”

Nienor blinked. “Of course. How else would we have survived?”

The two Elves exchanged dark looks. “Game is scarcer every year in every forest, worsening the more the Enemy's power grows. Yet this one place is not affected. Do you have any idea why?”

“No.” She was honestly baffled. “The winters have grown gradually harder, but we have never truly wanted for food since we have been here.”

“It makes you wonder if the Valar meddle more than we know with events here.” One of the twins scowled.

“If it means that Arwen is safe, Elladan, and that... others have returned to aid us, it's hardly something to complain about, is it?”

The speaker only shrugged in reply, his expression sullen, much as Turin sometimes looked when he had been proven wrong and did not like it.

Elladan. Nienor took note. That was the name of the ellon with the sword. At least she knew one of their names now. Then the rest of the other twin's words registered with her. “'Others' have returned to aid you? Has someone besides Turin and I come back from...” She trailed off, not having words for, or any memory of, what lay beyond this life.

Huan stood taller, huffing as if to sound important. Nienor's eyes darted to him, and she flushed. Of course, he had come back- somehow- but that wasn't what she had meant. Unless... Huan had perished in the service of her own kinsman Beren and his elf-wife Luthien... The blood drained from her face. “Beren and Luthien?” She could only whisper their names, revered as they had been in all the tales she had ever heard.

“You didn't know?” One of the twins arched a brow inquisitively.

“How could we? We have not left these woods since our return.”

“But... surely if you returned from beyond this world together, then...”

“I remember nothing between my first death and my return.” Nienor all but snapped. The twins mumbled apologies, which she accepted tersely. A silence fell, thick with tension. Eventually, she sighed. “Since I have already told you everything, you may as well come along with me now. I will take you to our home,” _And I will just hope Turin doesn't fly into too great of a rage over this._ “But please remember, Arwen will not be the person you knew. Don't expect her to rush over and embrace you, or anything of that kind. She will need time.” Without waiting for them to reply or argue, she set off, heading back to the cottage before she lost her nerve. They followed her in silence.

* * *

The only sound in the cottage was the faint noise of the small fire crackling in the hearth. Arwen sat closest to the fireplace, sewing. Turin was seated nearby, gazing into space, lost in thought. All the tasks he could have busied himself with were complete, and Nienor had not been out for long enough for him to need to go and search for her. Every so often, he glanced up at Arwen, who still had not really spoken to him since the day he had acted rashly and attempted to force her to confront the memories of her past. How long would she keep this up? The Maia's words to Turin, spoken some time ago, worried him too. If he was to be believed, their time of safety in isolation was fast running out, and he had no idea how to even begin hinting to Arwen that they would need to leave this place, and soon.

“I'm not really angry with you.” Arwen spoke without warning. Her voice was low, barely audible. “In case you believed that. I just...” She hunched lower, eyes intent on the cloth she was stitching. “Since you asked about my family, I... I've been trying to remember, but... it's a mess. My mind. The memories aren't all mine, and a lot of what I see doesn't make sense. I... I think sometimes that Morgoth toyed with my thoughts, and I have no idea what's real and what isn't anymore.”

Her voice and expression were so miserable that Turin's heart ached for her, even as he seethed at hearing, again, just how far the Enemy had violated her, in body and mind. As if it weren't enough that he had used her for his own pleasure! How frightening must it be, to not be certain what you could truly remember, and what might have been fabricated, tampered with, in your own mind? He edged closer to her, slowly, reaching out and placing his hand atop hers, carefully. She tensed, as always, at his touch, but he had grown used to that, and remained still until she calmed. “Would it help if you spoke of what you have seen? I might not have been there, but perhaps voicing the memories will help you sort through them? And you know I will not judge you for anything that was done to you.”

If he was honest with himself, those were words that might have helped him in his first life, if anyone had said them and if he had been able to swallow his pride enough to listen, which was doubtful- he'd been far too arrogant and bitter then.

Arwen shuddered, but did not reply. Turin was on the verge of drawing back and changing the subject, when she began to speak, in a whisper. “Some of my memories of home are happy at first. They're like dreams, but good ones. Then either Thuringwethil or Morgoth intrude on the scenes, in times before the war even began, before we knew of His return, and it seems so real...”

He leaned forward, not wanting to miss anything as she continued speaking. If he was going to be of any use in straightening her memories out, he needed to have some idea of the extent of Morgoth's meddling.

The sun was beginning to set by the time Arwen finished speaking, her voice now hoarse and tear tracks on her face- and on Turin's. This was the first time she had told her entire story in one go, and, having told all, she now looked pale and exhausted, curled up as small as possible.

Turin had interceded at times, seeking clarification on certain things, and- he hoped- had at least made some progress in helping her determine that her life in her home of Rivendell had been as safe and peaceful as possible, and that the insertion of Morgoth or Thuringwethil into those happy times were naught but fabrications, forced into her mind to cause doubt and fear. He _thought_ Arwen believed him, but there was no way to be certain.

Standing and stretching, he groaned- he had been sitting, leaning forward to be of a height with Arwen, for so long that the muscles of his back now ached with pain. Only then, glancing out of the window, did he realize how long they had sat and talked- over two hours, at least, and Nienor had not yet returned.

Unease prickled through him, though he hid it, moving to the door, opening it a crack and peering out, hoping to see his sister approaching. If she had not returned by nightfall, he would have to go in search of her, for that was one rule they all had agreed on: Do not remain outdoors after dark.

A twig snapped, and an instant later, Nienor stepped into view. Turin pushed open the door and let out a sigh of relief (echoed by Arwen, still seated by the fire, but able to see past him).

Nienor, to his surprise, did not come straight inside, but stood still, twisting her hands as if she felt nervous. She was gnawing her lower lip anxiously as well. Turin's eyes narrowed. What was she up to?

She looked at him, but avoided direct eye contact as she spoke rapidly. “I'm sorry I was gone so long, but I ran into... visitors, in the woods, and as it's getting late, it would not be fair to make them travel home in this dark, so...” She looked over her shoulder and beckoned to someone before Turin had a chance to retort that they were not running an inn here, than you very much.

Two tall dark-haired figures stepped from the trees, halting just behind Nienor, inclining their heads in greeting. Following them, padding on huge paws, was a grey dog the size of a horse.

Turin glared at his sister. “Nienor-”

She stepped closer, a stubborn set to her face. “They were in these woods searching for their sister anyway, Turin. How long do you think we would have remained hidden? Is it not better to meet this way, than be thought of as kidnappers if they had stumbled across the three of us with no explanation?”

Their sister... Turin took a more thorough look at the dark-haired figures and groaned. These were the twins he had encountered before. Arwen's brothers, Elladan and Elrohir, if he remembered rightly. Grudgingly, he had to admire their persistence, returning here and somehow finding Nienor, but for her to confess all and just bring them here without speaking to him or to Arwen first... Scowling, he stepped aside, gesturing them indoors. “Come inside then, as my sister has apparently decided for all of us that we need to meet and discuss things.” The glare he gave Nienor made it clear he was not happy, but he doubted the twins even noticed that. They moved forward slowly, as if doubting this were even real, their eyes wide as they crossed the threshold and saw Arwen sitting there. Turin cast her an apologetic glance over their heads, but her eyes had fixed on her brothers as she staggered to her feet, one hand pressed to her mouth. She seemed to have forgotten about Turin and Nienor entirely, as her face crumpled with some unreadable emotion.

The dog padded in after them, its movements almost silent, and once Nienor had slipped inside, wincing at the glower he gave her, Turin closed and latched the door, not best pleased with this turn of events. The room was silent, and the twins had stopped in their tracks, half-reaching out to their sister. Arwen had backed up slightly, her hand raised as if to ward them off. The dog, whining softly, shuffled forward, sniffing delicately at her hand, tail swishing back and forth.

“Arwen.” One of the twins choked out. Both stared at her as if they feared she would vanish if they looked away.

She took a shaky breath and met their gazes, one at a time, but she did not smile. “Hello. It's... good to see you again.” Her voice was stilted, formal, as if she addressed strangers. The dog gave her a thorough sniff before sitting down at her feet, as if guarding her. Even seated, its head was on a level with hers- however did a dog get so large?

The twins looked put out and hurt, almost. To Turin, it was obvious that Arwen was nervous and unsure of what to do or say, but to the twins, her greeting likely came across as cold, and he felt a pang of sadness for them. To break the awkward moment, he stepped forward. “Mae Govannen once more. Elladan and Elrohir, is it not?” There was no reply, but he pressed on. “Obviously we are pleased to reunite you with your sister, and I assume Nienor guided you here.” They did not react with shock to hearing her name, so Turin presumed she had told them of her identity as well. That meant they also knew who he was, which was just _brilliant_. “I see that she has also informed you who we are, so introducing myself is pointless but I will do so anyway. I am Turin. It happens that you are the only ones to have even come close to our home these past years, so I would like to know how you found us.” His tone was harsh, abrasive, intentionally so. He was not truly quite as angry as he sounded, it was a ploy to take the emotional pressure of this reunion from Arwen before she fell apart.

Nienor and Elladan and Elrohir were all looking displeased now, but their attention was off Arwen, which was what Turin had wanted. He could weather their ill tempers better than she could, and it would give her some time to relax and gather her thoughts before having to engage in any conversations.

Why couldn't Nienor at least have stalled the twins and their dog somehow, if she could not put them off coming here altogether, and have returned here ahead of their 'guests', to give them some warning that this was about to happen?!


	21. Chapter 21

Arwen was barely listening as Elladan and Elrohir spoke to Turin. She was still utterly stunned to see them, here, a part of her old life mingling with her current one. How much had Nienor told them of how she came to be here? There was no way of finding out- she did not intend to bring up the subject. The thought of her brothers knowing just what Morgoth had used her for made her want to run and hide. What they would think of her if they knew... To occupy her mind, she cautiously reached out to touch the enormous dog that still sat at her feet. He had barely moved since settling down there, and as she gingerly brushed her hand over his head, he panted, tail wagging appreciatively.

' _What's your name, hmm?'_ She asked silently. She didn't recall her brothers having a dog, but perhaps that was just another thing she had forgotten.

' _I am Huan.'_

The alien voice in her mind startled her- surely the dog hadn't replied? She looked at him warily. Kind black eyes were now locked on her, pink tongue lolling out in a canine grin. She drew her hand back, carefully. Huan? The great Hound of Valinor from the old tales of Beren and Luthien? Arwen shuddered involuntarily, feeling sick at even thinking of her ancestress' name- how often had she been called by that name, and come to loathe the very sound of it? And if this truly was Huan, returned somehow, did that mean that somehow, Beren and his wife were back too? _Pity it didn't happen sooner_. A dark voice in her mind muttered. _Then Morgoth might have been able to take his foul lusts out on the one that incited them instead of upon me!_

She bit her lip, knowing that was unfair. Her ancestress was not to blame for Morgoth's obsessions or his actions, but somehow she could not convince herself of that- the notion simply would not leave her mind, cruel as it was.

“...to the encampment in Mirkwood soon, Arwen?”

She started, too late realizing that Elrohir had addressed her, and she had missed his question entirely. “I-I'm sorry, my mind was elsewhere. What did you say?”

Elrohir patiently repeated himself. “I said, I'm sure you will want to rejoin our family at the encampment soon, will you not? Now we know you are safe and well...”

The blood drained from her face. Leave this place, leave Turin and Nienor and the safety she felt here? _No!_ She found it hard to draw breath, suddenly, and was soon gasping for air, her heart pounding.

“Arwen? What's wrong?” Elrohir and Elladan were both staring at her, looking puzzled.

“I... I can't.” She managed to gasp out, clenching her fists and trying to force herself to calm down, with little success. Traveling anywhere, leaving these woods, risking being seen by anyone or anything that might bear tidings of her to Thuringwethil or Morgoth... She could not do that. Not yet. Perhaps not ever. She felt herself trembling, but was powerless to stop it. Elladan and Elrohir moved closer in unison, concern on their faces, hands reaching for her.

“Muinthel-” One set of hands brushed her shoulders, as if to pull her into an embrace.

She surged out of her chair, flinging her arms up to push the hands away, recoiling from them, needing to be out of the reach of their grasping hands, unable to bear the thought of them touching her. The very idea made her skin crawl, and she whimpered.

Turin moved so he stood between her and the twins, blocking their path to her. “That's enough.” His voice was cool and calm, as it usually was, and hearing it gave Arwen something to focus on, a reassurance that she was safe with him and Nienor here. She took several deep breaths, trying to calm herself. Her brothers meant no harm, some part of her knew that, and Turin would not let anything happen to her.

“I assumed Nienor had informed you that Arwen is not fond of being touched without permission,” here Turin narrowed his eyes at his sister, “But perhaps I was mistaken?”

“I did tell them as much.” Nienor's voice was disappointed, almost. “Clearly they did not take much notice.”

“We did,” Elladan stated, weakly, “It's just...”

“We assumed it would be different with us. We didn't think...” Elrohir's voice broke. “Arwen, what has _happened_ to you?”

Arwen, with some effort, managed to force herself to look up at him. “I'm sorry.” Her voice shook. “I can't... It's hard for me to get used to people I don't really remember. And, being touched... it reminds me too much of...” A sob tore from her throat, but she forced herself to keep speaking. “Thuringwethil. She had me captive for years, and I was beaten so often... any touch makes me remember. I can't bear it.” Tears dripped from her face, and she swallowed hard, not looking at anyone. Elladan and Elrohir would react with mere pity now, and that was for the best. Turin and Nienor would know that she had just lied to the twins, but she prayed they didn't give her away.

She could never, ever, reveal to her brothers what had really happened to her in Morgoth's fortress.

She kept her head down as Turin, giving her a long look, led Elladan and Elrohir from the room, brooking no arguments from them. Nienor followed, casting a concerned glance back at Arwen. Huan remained, for some reason, whining in concern, nuzzling and licking her hands as if he meant to comfort her. His furry coat blazed warmth, and, eventually, to quell her trembling, she buried her hands in his fur, letting his warmth seep into her, calming her down. He was remarkably tolerant, pressing close to her, as if he knew she needed to be comforted, although surely he could not know why.

She knew Turin and Nienor would be talking to her brothers about her, but hopefully they would convince the twins that they did not need to leave this place, at least not yet. _And please don't let them reveal what Morgoth did to me_. She couldn't bear for anyone from her old life to know what a tainted, disgusting _thing_ she had become. They would hate her, and she could not bear that.

She already hated herself more than enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Muinthel- Sindarin Elvish word for 'sister', in case anyone didn't know.


	22. Chapter 22

Elladan and Elrohir had been offered the small sitting room of the tiny cottage to sleep in, as there were no spare bedrooms, but they had declined, preferring to sleep outdoors, and also not wishing to crowd their hosts. Besides, they needed to speak privately, without fear of being overheard. The events of that day, finding Arwen at last, dwelling with _Turin and Nienor_ , of all people, when their return was something no-one had even looked for as of yet. And then Arwen acting so aloof and withdrawn, as if she did not even know them... they needed space to think of what to do next, for, in their imaginations, they had always assumed that all would be well once they finally found their sister. The reality was... very different. So eventually, they had capitulated and agreed with Turin that it would not be wise to force Arwen to leave this place before she was willing, and they had not, in truth, had much choice in that. Turin did not seem willing to debate or compromise, and honestly, they were both too emotionally dazed and numb from the day's events to truly argue with him. They had turned down the offer to spend the night inside, although Huan remained inside the cottage, with Arwen, and slipped outdoors, to pass the night under the stars and try and work out what they were meant to do now.

For some time, having ascended into a tree, a habit learned from their friend Legolas, since in these dark times, resting in trees was less perilous than doing so upon the ground, they sat in silence, contemplating all that they had seen that day.

Elladan, letting out a sigh, was the first to speak. “This is not going as we thought it would, is it?”

Elrohir grimaced. “No. I mean... I always thought, if we found her, we would just return to the rest of our family and...” He shook his head. “She doesn't even seem to know us any more.” His voice was despondent. “And the way she reacted, recoiling as if we terrified her... How can we take her home like this?”

“Thuringwethil has much to answer for.” The dark expression he now wore, and the threat implied in Elladan's tone, would have sent many beings fleeing.

“Agreed.” Elrohir, the more introspective twin, frowned, deep in thought. “She will pay. But such a thing will not help us regain any lost ground with Arwen now.”

Elladan let out another sigh. “Not to mention, we left the camp without word to anyone, and they have no idea where we are. Do we return empty-handed, saying we found Arwen, and also Turin Turambar and Nienor Niniel, but they do not wish to join us yet?”

A scoff. “Not likely. They will all think we've taken leave of our senses!”

“But the other option is we remain here, without sending word, and let our kin worry themselves out of their minds about what has become of us.”

“We could tell them where we are...”

“And have them come storming here after us? What good would that do?”

“But...”

Elladan shook his head. “No. I honestly think the best option, if it comes to it, is one of us goes back to bear tidings, while the other remains, to see if we can make any progress befriending Turin and Nienor, or getting through to Arwen. Whoever goes can then come back.”

Elrohir arched a brow. “And are you volunteering to stay, or go?”

Elladan lowered his eyes. “I don't know. What happened earlier, seeing Arwen petrified of us... I never expected it. I don't know how to act around her now.”

“Neither do I, if I'm honest.” Another silence fell. Eventually, Elrohir spoke again. “I do agree that one of us needs to carry the news back to the camp, but how we're going to convince anyone...”

“About Arwen, or about her companions? Because if it's Turin and Nienor's presence you're referring to, they should accept that readily enough- Beren and Luthien have returned, why should it be hard to believe that others have done the same?”

“But they have been seen by all. Why should anyone accept that we have seen Hurin's children, when they will not show themselves?”

Elladan frowned. “I do not quite recall the details, but I am sure Legolas once told us that Thranduil knew both Turin and Nienor in Doriath. If we could convince them to provide some tale or fact that only they know, that he could confirm...”

Elrohir snorted. “Good luck getting Turin to agree to that!” The Man's sullen attitude did not seem to lend itself to doing favors, even if it would help his cause in the long term.

“He may not, but I am fairly sure Nienor would, if we could ask her. She does not seem as harsh as her brother.” Her cool blue eyes, golden hair and pretty face flashed into Elladan's mind, and his face reddened, though he tried to hide it. Something in his tone was apparently amusing to Elrohir, as his brother smirked at him.

“What?”

“Nothing.” The smirk only grew. “Are you overly warm, muindor? Your cheeks appear aflame.” Elrohir's tone was teasing, but Elladan scowled.

“Leave me be,” He muttered, feeling wretched suddenly. How could he be entertaining thoughts such as this, no matter how beautiful Nienor might be, when his poor sister was nearby, a mere shell of her former self? _That_ was where his focus should be, not on a Mortal woman!

As if he had divined Elladan's thoughts, Elrohir's face softened, and he slung a comforting arm around his twin's shoulders. “I am sorry. It's just... I needed to lighten the mood. All this... seeing Arwen, how badly she's been hurt, finding her dwelling alongside two living legends... it's so much to deal with.”

A nod. “I think, for now, the best thing is for us to simply rest. We need not make any decisions about our next step tonight. Let us sleep, and determine what comes next in the morning.”

Elrohir nodded in agreement, and silence resumed, as both twins relaxed, taking comfort in the other's presence amid the recent turmoil. Eventually, both wandered onto the Path of Dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Muindor- Sindarin Elvish word for Brother.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter introduces a new POV, Thuringwethil's account of Arwen's captivity and escape, and what's happened to her since then, with some foreshadowing of what happens next for our main cast.

Thuringwethil flew silently across the night sky, her black wings indistinguishable from the starless patches of the open space above her. She struggled not to hiss or flinch in pain as the strain on her wings pulled at the deep scars she now bore- a punishment from her Master because she had managed to lose his pet elfling, the whelp of the Peredhil line who wore Luthien's face, that had escaped, only to kill herself. Morgoth had been livid when she had borne him those tidings, and damaging her wings, limiting her ability to fly, was his retribution for Thuringwethil's failure to guard the elleth properly.

Now the vampire did let out a hiss. As if she were to blame! The nuisance of an elleth had done nothing but run and hide through the fortress, forcing Thuringwethil to literally drag her before Morgoth each time he desired her, as if she thought this whole thing some game of hide-and-find. No matter how many times she had been found, and Thuringwethil had tried to beat sense into her, she had never ceased to try and evade Morgoth's lusts. But of course, her Lord would not hear of simply chaining the silly chit up somewhere, so she had no choice but to remain in one place. No, no, he was so convinced the child was harmless that she was permitted to roam free, albeit in chains, unless he called for her. Small wonder that she had escaped in the end!

Initially, when the child could not be found, Thuringwethil had assumed the foolish girl had simply hidden herself better than usual within the fortress. It was not until she had searched for a full day and found naught that she had been forced to admit the elleth was gone. Somehow. She had reported to her Lord immediately, cringing the whole time, knowing he would become angry, and that she would likely bear the brunt of it.

His eyes had flashed, but he had also smiled, almost chuckling in response. She scoffed, now, recalling what he had said.

“ **So the little bird does still retain some of her ancestress' wits after all**.” He seemed amused by the elleth's flight. He had waved a hand at Thuringwethil, almost idly. “ **I will have to consider a fitting punishment once you have brought her back to me**.”

Recognizing a dismissal when she heard one, Thuringwethil had kept her head bowed as she left her Lord's presence. If fetching the elleth home was all she was required to do in penance, she had gotten off lightly indeed. And, to be fair, this was not the first time the foolish child had made it outside of the fortress, although Thuringwethil hoped it did not take her as long to find her as it had taken Azog, some years ago: then, the elleth had been missing for a month! (Not that Azog, and the elleth, had not paid for that of course.)

In the present, an updraft caught her, putting more pressure on her damaged wings and she let out a snarl as pain ripped through her, but at least this time, she remained airborne.

It was all that little elleth's fault. She had scoured the lands surrounding the fortress to begin with, immediately after the elleth's escape, but found nothing but faint traces of her passage. She must have moved as if her feet were winged! Of course, the fact that Thuringwethil could only move at night hampered her hunt somewhat- any traces of the elleth that she found were old.

Eventually, surviving on who knew what kind of strength, the elleth had made her way close to lands still held by the accursed Elves. Here, Thuringwethil had slowed, pondering if the elleth was truly worth risking a battle over. Thinking of what Morgoth might do if she returned empty-handed however, she concluded she must continue her hunt. She was grudgingly impressed- she had believed the child broken beyond repair, unable to even think for herself. For her to have made it this far... it was almost as if the blasted Valar were aiding her in her flight!

At last, she had found a winding trail that disappeared into a forest, untraceable for some reason, until it resumed on the far side of the woods. This trail was a fresh one, if the wisps of hair, tipped in still-drying blood, were to be believed. Finding new hope in her search, Thuringwethil had moved more quickly, paying less heed now to who might see her, vowing that when she caught up with the elleth, she would at last do what Morgoth had never permitted, and taste of her blood. Needing strength to bear the elleth back to him would be a good enough excuse, surely?

Except the trail led to a steep cliff, which ended abruptly. All that lay beneath was a churning maelstrom of a river, thundering over rocks with enough noise to be heard from above. Thuringwethil had scanned the area desperately, hoping her quarry had not taken the route suggested by the trail, but there was no sign of the elleth, except another tendril of hair and a scuffed footprint at the very edge of the cliff.

Thuringwethil descended from the sky, peering over the edge, still hoping, somehow... but no child of Iluvatar could have survived that fall. She let out a scream of mingled rage and fear. The elleth was dead. She had failed. She winged her way back North, even as she was racked with terror about what Morgoth would do to her.

His punishment, as it turned out, had been to bind searing-hot irons that did not cool to her wings, leaving them there for almost a sun-year, forbidding any to aid her. When he finally bade them be removed, the damage was too great to undo, and raised, thick scars marred both of her wings. He had then ordered her from his sight, and she had fled lest worse befall her. She had spent the majority of the next four years acting as a general, commanding companies of Orcs and Easterlings in Morgoth's name. The few times she had been in his presence since, he had seemed to see her as a reminder of 'his' missing elleth, vacillating between lustful yearning, rage, and what lesser beings might call grief, if one such as Morgoth could feel such things.

In any case, she preferred to be where she was, leading the armies, flying as much as possible to maintain what strength she could in her wings, keeping watch on the movements of the Elves, and reporting back anything that might prove useful.

Tonight, she had been spying on the young twin sons of the half-elf Elrond, that she knew had to be brothers of the now-dead elleth. She cared not, save for how that information might be used against them should she ever face them in battle. They had left the encampment that was protected by Galadriel, Celeborn and Maglor just as the sun began to set, the light low enough for her to follow with caution. They were alone but for some dog that she could scarcely see from above, and had traveled some distance, then disappeared into a patch of forest that Thuringwethil did not even recall seeing before. She had flitted above it for some time, but could not perceive anything below, nor see a way through the trees for a better look. Attempting to enter the woods from the ground resulted in naught but confusion, and only by taking to the air once more could she recall what she had intended to do. Odd- was this place protected somehow from all comers? But Elrond's sons had found it...

As the night progressed, she decided it could do no harm to settle nearby, to see what went on, and learn, if she could, what mystery this forest held, and what the sons of Elrond wanted with it.


	24. Chapter 24

Nienor sighed heavily as Arwen forcefully shook her head, black-and-silver braids flying with the force of her vehemence, and Turin visibly gritted his teeth in frustration. For her own part, she wrung her hands. While she could understand Arwen's not wishing to reveal what she had suffered at Morgoth's hands to her brothers, she could also agree with Turin's argument, that lying to family would only cause more pain in the end. She had no idea which of the two was in the right in this situation.

Turin let out an aggravated sound that could almost have been a growl. “Arwen, I more than most know how it feels to want to keep things from your past hidden, but can you not learn from my past mistakes? You know my past. With all the damage I caused back then, I cannot return without causing more pain to others, but a great deal of my problems were caused because I could not swallow my pride and admit to what was troubling me!”

Arwen's pale hands clenched into fists, trembling with some suppressed emotion. “I thought you of all people would agree with my needing to hide my shame.”

“Shame?!” Nienor could not remain silent any longer. “Arwen, _you_ did not do anything wrong!” She felt sick. How could Arwen believe that? Had she always felt that way about Morgoth's torment of her?!

“I could not prevent him from using me as Luthien did,” Arwen almost spat the name, though her face was despondent. “So yes, I do feel I am to blame.”

“Oh, of all the stupid-” Turin threw his hands up, pressing his lips together tightly, turning and stalking from the room, likely so he did not end up saying something he would later regret.

Nienor attempted to phrase similar thoughts in a calmer fashion. “Arwen, as I understand the tale, Luthien just barely avoided being taken captive, and she was far more powerful than you. You must not blame yourself for not being her, despite your appearance. You survived years in that hellish place, did you not? If it had come to it, she might not have. There is no way to know. And the only one to blame for Morgoth's actions is Morgoth himself.” She paused, deliberately catching Arwen's gaze. “Do you hear me? Do you understand?”

Silence. Arwen ducked her head, refusing to reply.

“Please.” Nienor tried to keep desperation from her tone. “You have healed so much since you have been here. Do not throw it all away now.”

A single tear ran down Arwen's face, but she still did not speak. Torn over what to do, but having no idea what to say beyond what she already had, and aware she needed to go after Turin before he took it into his head to do something rash, like tell the twins the truth of Arwen's captivity himself, Nienor slipped from the room.

Turin was pacing back and forth, scowling deeply, muttering under his breath about 'stubborn Elves'. Nienor hesitated before approaching him- he seemed angry, but not enough to do something foolish, and the last thing she needed was to try and intervene, when she might only make things worse.

Instead, she turned her gaze to the window. A shape moving just outside almost made her shriek, until she was able to discern long hair and a tall lean form, and realized it had to be one of the twins. Why was he pacing in front of their cottage, and where was his brother?

Turin, uncharacteristically, seemed not to have noticed. His attention was fixed on the closed door that led to Arwen's room, his expression troubled. Still, Nienor trusted that he would not intrude on Arwen's privacy. Besides, Huan had lain down in front of her door, as soon as Nienor had emerged, as if he had taken it upon himself to guard her.

Pulling a cloak about her shoulders, she left her brother to his muttering and stepped outside, meaning to offer whichever twin this was the chance to come in and rest by the fire. He seemed distracted however, eyes fixed on the trees, scanning the area as if he heard or saw some threat. Nienor tensed, as it was not impossible that he hadn't. The senses of Elves were superior to those of Mortals, after all, and it could well be that he detected something that she could not. She found herself almost holding her breath as she approached. Just in case.

“What is it?” She breathed the words, scarcely making any sound at all, but the black-haired Elf jumped as if she had startled him. He quickly pulled a reassuring look onto his face that did not fool Nienor in the slightest. “What troubles you?”

He turned slightly away, but also stepped closer, as if he were guarding her. “I know not. I sense a growing shadow, encroaching on my mind and dreams. The sensation was too great to remain asleep. I do not know what it might be, but I cannot relax.”

She shivered. “Does your brother-”

“Sense the same, yes. He is searching the woods closest to your home, but has found nothing yet.”

“How could you know... oh.” Nienor nodded, remembering. “You two can speak mind to mind, oh, what's the word...” The Elves had a term for this kind of communication, but she did not recall it.

“Osanwe, and yes, we can speak in that way. Else, I would not have allowed Elrohir to walk these woods alone.”

That made her frown. “It's odd, though. All the years we have lived here, we have never had any problems from the Enemy, or any visitors at all, save Arwen, a strange visit from a Maia, according to Turin at least, and now you two.”

Elladan arched a brow at her. “And you would know if something more insidious than Orcs came close?”

Nienor's face reddened. “Well, no, but... surely Arwen would have sensed danger, if the two of you can do so.”

Elladan's eyes darkened. “Perhaps, but... as she is now, I have no idea how many of her inborn abilities she can still use, or if she even wishes to do so at all. Spending years being tortured at the hands of the vampire Thuringwethil...” His expression twisted in pain. “Physical pain aside, who knows what that creature did to her mind, to make her become so distant from her own memories, and to fear all who come close?”

Guilt churned through Nienor, as she was well aware that it was far more than torture at the vampire's hands that had broken Arwen, but she could not reveal it. Had she not, mere minutes ago, been desperate to prevent Turin from breaking Arwen's trust and betraying her secret? She turned away, unable to continue looking into those gleaming eyes, irrationally afraid that he might somehow divine that she kept something from him.

Elrohir's return into the clearing broke the moment. He moved in almost complete silence, raising a brow at the sight of Nienor, but addressing his twin in all seriousness, though Nienor suspected he only spoke aloud for her benefit- the twins did not need spoken words to have a conversation, after all.

“I scoured the area closest to the cottage. Whatever we sensed is stronger to the north-east, but it is some distance away, perhaps outside the forest itself. I doubt we will find anything further unless we depart this place.” A silence fell as the same thought occurred to all of them at near the same time, though none of them voiced it.

If some evil lurked in wait just outside these woods, how could it ever be safe for them to leave here and journey to the Elven encampment?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Osanwe: Elvish word for telepathy. I can't recall if the word is Quenya or Sindarin in origin though, sorry.


	25. Chapter 25

Turin cast another look at Arwen's closed door- and Huan, still laying protectively in front of it- before glancing outside, where Nienor was deep in conversation with the twins. It irked him somewhat that she seemed to be at ease with them, so quickly, though he would never admit it. And what could they be so intent on discussing anyway? They were all but strangers to each other!

He took one last glance at Arwen's door, decided not to put any more pressure on her tonight, and, despite feeling somewhat foolish in doing so, addressed Huan. “Keep an eye on her?”

The hound rolled his eyes but dipped his muzzle, as if nodding in agreement. Turin stepped outdoors, partly hoping that the others would not notice him at first- he might get a better indication of what they were discussing through eavesdropping to begin with, in case they saw him and decided to not tell him everything. He could make out deeply troubled expressions on all three of their faces, but only managed to catch the words “whatever it is does not notice” before one of the twins noticed him and started, the small gesture silencing both of the others, all of them attempting, with varying degrees of success, to look at ease.

Turin focused on Nienor, knowing he could most likely get answers from her. “What is going on?”

His sister immediately looked away from him, catching the twins' eyes as if expecting help.

Turin raised an eyebrow. “Well?”

Simultaneously, the twins sighed. “There is a possibility that some servant of the Enemy lingers close to the border of this forest.”

Turin cursed. Loudly. “What manner of creature, and where?” It was a sad fact of his life, he reflected, that he did not doubt the twins, even for a second. Over five years without something threatening him- the Maia Gandalf's work, if he had spoken the truth- was too good to be true. Of course it was coming to an abrupt end.

“To the north-east, almost a league away, and we do not know what it is.”

 _Perfect_. “Which direction would we need to travel to get to this encampment of yours?”

“Directly East.”

Turin sighed. Loudly and obviously. Not only did they now have limited time to convince a still-terrified Arwen that they had to leave the only place that she felt safe, but they also had to do so by travelling in a direction that could easily bring them into the path of an unknown threat. To buy himself time to think, he asked the first question that came to mind, addressing the twins. “How do you know of this?” If it turned out that this threat had followed them here, and they had known and only thought to inform them now...

“We sensed danger less than two hours ago,” the twin standing closest to Nienor replied tersely, as if he knew or suspected what Turin was now thinking. “Elrohir scouted the forest nearby, while I returned here to stand guard.” Elladan's expression suddenly became almost sheepish. “I was actually outside for over an hour before Nienor realized that I was there.” He gave her an apologetic glance, perhaps trying to infer that he had not been spying or something to that effect. She returned a small smile, as if to say, no harm done.

Turin ignored the byplay between them. “You claim you sensed this threat.”

“Yes.”

“Then why has Arwen not noticed anything?” That came across more abrasive than he had intended. He was genuinely curious. Surely, any insight the twins had came from their Maia ancestress Melian, and if that were the case, any gifts the twins had should be shared by their sister.

“Be fair, Turin. Arwen has been... upset over the last few days. It's possible that something may have escaped her notice.” Nienor didn't sound certain, however. Turin chose to ignore her, staring down Elladan and Elrohir until one of them gave him an answer.

The creak of the cottage door opening broke the moment, all four of them turning to look. Arwen, even paler than she typically was these days, walked unsteadily towards them, leaning heavily on Huan, hands visibly shaking.

Nienor, Turin, Elladan and Elrohir all stepped towards her at once, each knowing something was wrong- the fear surrounding her was almost palpable. Huan huffed and moved in such a way that his massive body prevented them from coming too close to her, a clear warning to give her space.

“Arwen? What's wrong?” Nienor spoke cautiously, aware, as Turin was, that she could be sleepwalking- it had happened in the past.

Arwen's mouth opened and closed a few times, soundlessly, her eyes barely focusing. She swallowed heavily, before finally forcing words out, her voice a mere whisper. “I dreamt... I sensed... just outside the woods.” She shuddered. “Thuringwethil is watching.” Her eyes locked on those of her brothers. “I saw her follow you when you left the camp. _You_ brought her here.”

There were shocked protests of denial from the twins, and Nienor gasped, while Huan let out a warning growl- whether that was intended to deny Arwen's words, or to accuse the twins, there was no way to know. Turin, meanwhile, felt himself snap into the ice-cold clarity that overtook him when he was under attack- cold, cunning, and with little care for hurt feelings. He doubted the twins had deliberately brought the vampire here, more likely the creature had simply been spying upon the Elves, and followed two potential victims, but the fact remained, their sanctuary was failing them. “We need to gather what supplies we can, and leave.” He raised a hand to forestall any arguments. “There is no time to waste on bickering or assigning blame. Who knows how long it will before the vampire actually enters the woods? We will depart to the South, and circle around these woods. If luck is with us, the demon will not detect our presence and we can slip past unnoticed.” A small part of him made him give Arwen a sorrowful glance. This would be hard for her, nigh impossible, but remaining here, with Thuringwethil so close, would lead to a far worse fate, and he believed, deep down, that she knew that. “Gather what food we still have, blankets, cloaks, kindling and firewood, as much as you each can carry. We leave at dawn.” Following his own orders, Turin went indoors to begin gathering what he could into a pack. Arwen had followed him inside, her head bowed, Huan dutifully trotting at her heels. He spared her one last look, his expression softening. “I know this is frightening, and you don't wish to do it, but you surely see that we cannot remain here now?”

She bowed her head in acknowledgement, but did not speak. Turin turned his eyes to Huan. “I trust you will protect her. If the worst befalls, and Thuringwethil finds us, I ask only that you bear Arwen to safety, before fetching help for the rest of us. Will you do so?”

Huan huffed, his tail wagging once. Turin took that as agreement, although it felt no less absurd to be speaking to a dog than it had earlier. Gently resting a hand on Arwen's shoulder, he gave it a squeeze in reassurance. “We _will_ all get through this, and reach the Elven camp in safety, one way or another. Do you believe me? Do you _trust_ me?”

It took some time, but eventually Arwen nodded. “Yes.” Her voice cracked, but she went to collect supplies without protest. Turin's heart clenched. _Valar, please, do not make my words to her a lie._

Some time later, as the Sun began to rise, all six of them, the Elves and Men carrying packs and bags on their backs, while Huan carried a smaller pack in his mouth (he had lifted it when they had divided up supplies and refused to set it down again, apparently determined to help). They slipped from the cottage, heading directly south into the forest, all on edge about the journey they were undertaking, with no surety of how long they would be travelling out in the open, and with no protection save their own weapons and whatever faith they had in the Valar and Iluvatar.

Elladan and Elrohir led the way, followed by Arwen, who kept close to Huan, her hands buried in his thick fur, and Nienor. Turin brought up the rear, hurrying to catch the others, as he had delayed a moment, stopping to use some of his kindling to set a small fire near the cottage. The wind should catch the flames, bearing the embers to the thatched roof, and soon the home he had spent five mostly happy years in would be naught but smoke and ashes. It pained him, and for that reason, he had not told Nienor and Arwen of this facet of his plan, knowing it would hurt them more. But, this way, even if Thuringwethil did somehow enter the woods and find the clearing, she would find no trace of the cottage, or any signs of who had once dwelled within.

Knowing that he had made the right decision did not mean he wouldn't mourn the loss of their quaint home. But he did so in silence as they journeyed deeper into the woods, heading ever eastward, their minds on what lay beyond, even as they all remained on full alert for anything that might approach. They walked with shoulders bowed, in silence, all deep in thought, knowing that only uncertainty lay ahead of them.

None of them knew what might happen to them now, exposed to the wider world once again.


	26. Interlude II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This interlude is written from Morgoth's perspective, so there is dark subject matter and some gore.

The cavernous hall that was his throne room forever echoed with a cacophony of noise- the snarls of Wargs, shrieking and bellowing from Orcs, the roars of Balrogs and the flames they carried within, the incessant pounding from below as thralls delved in the mines, expanding his fortress for him, and the ever-sweet, and nigh ever-present sound of prisoners in torment. Morgoth sat rigidly on his throne, awaiting the return of his so-called Orc Captains from their latest missions, having ordered them here to listen to whatever intelligence they had gathered, if any. He frowned somewhat at that thought. The bulk of his forces now were Orcs and Easterlings that pressed the remnant of the foolish Elves who still resisted his rightful rule. He missed having _intelligent_ beings to speak to, at times. His little elleth, withdrawn as she had been at times, at least listened when he told her of his plans, and had wit enough to comprehend them- her fearful reactions had been proof enough of that. The thought made him grin, then scowl, disappointed that there had been no trace of her anywhere yet, not wandering alone, nor with her kin. It must have been _at least_ three sun-years since she slipped from his grasp, and despite Thuringwethil's claims, he did not believe the elleth dead- her family were hardier than that, and had a tendency to escape what should be certain death. Why should the youngest of the line be any different, and just how long did he have to wait to reclaim her?

The heavy iron doors creaked and groaned as trolls forced them open, and the Orc Captains entered. Morgoth sat straighter, wanting none of his discontent to be noted by his approaching underlings. It likely mattered not, for the dim red torches mounted on each pillar that lined his hall provided the only lighting within, which forever cast his features in flickering shadow, but he would take no chances of dissent stirring among his legions. His eyes pierced the gloom and he never failed to catch the attention of whichever servant he was addressing, if he deigned to speak to such creatures as Orcs at all. They made good cannon fodder, but their limited intelligence and appetites made them good for little else, to his mind. They were skilled soldiers, but they forever needed orders, to tell them when and whom to battle. Alone, they would kill and destroy all in their path, with no head for strategy whatsoever.

At times such as this, Morgoth reflected silently, as the company of Orcs grovelled their way towards him, he found himself missing Sauron, his former right hand, even though Sauron's very destruction had been what allowed him to claw his way back into Arda. He would never forget his Second's sacrifice. Thuringwethil had seemed a suitable replacement for him, for a time, until she had failed him, allowing the young Peredhel elleth he had claimed to escape. She had been duly punished, of course, but since then, he had barely been able to tolerate her presence, seeing only a reminder of the pleasures he had lost when the elleth had fled his halls.

The Orcs had now drawn as close to his throne as they were permitted, and knelt their, heads bowed.

“ **Speak**.” He saw no need to clarify _what_ they should speak of- they knew their assigned tasks, and were well aware that he would tolerate no lies or excuses.

“The Elves hold their lines, my Lord.” One of the Orcs spoke, keeping its head lowered and his posture submissive. “We test them each night, leaving them injured behind us, but the greater casualties are ours.”

“ **That sounds a great deal like an excuse for failure, Orc**.” Morgoth stood from his throne, towering over them all, stepping closer to the speaker, who cringed, pressing its belly to the ground like the cowering worm it had just proved itself to be.

The other Orcs recoiled, sparing not a thought for their kinsman. Morgoth slowly raised his foot, and, almost gently, brought it down upon the Orc's back, ignoring its strangled screams, pressing until he heard the crunch of bones, and the creature ceased attempting to pry itself free. Stepping away from the corpse, he regarded it for an instant, before returning to his throne and beckoning the remaining Orc Captains forward.

“ **Now, if any of you have news that I wish to hear, you may speak. Otherwise..**.” He looked pointedly at the body, its spine now resembling nothing so much as jelly.

The Orcs hissed and muttered for a few moments, each seeming to wait for another to move, before one of them finally crept forward.

“I did hear something new, Master,” It rasped. “It was while we were waiting to ambush a Elf patrol. Many of the Elves spoke of some people returning. I don't know from where, but they seemed in high spirits about it.” It spat on the ground, its expression disgusted. “I heard the names Beren and Luthien, if that means aught to you.”

In an instant, Morgoth was on his feet again, certain he had misheard, or that the brainless Orc had it wrong somehow. The Orcs scattered backwards in terror, but Morgoth barely noticed, his mind now racing. Beren and Luthien, alive once again? Memories flooded him, mostly of the young descendant of Luthien that he had claimed and later misplaced, but some recollections of his encounter with the true Luthien, eons ago, resurfaced also. Searing desire, for one or both of them, tore through him, and he just managed to dismiss the Orcs before all but collapsing back on his throne, overcome with lust and the delightful images and dark designs now in his mind. If he could have Luthien herself, _and_ also her young lookalike... His eyes gleamed with fresh cruelty and malice.

Reaching out with his mind, he sent out a call. ' _ **Thuringwethil!**_ ''

' _Yes, Master?_ ' Her voice still bore the sullen, almost defiant tone it had ever since he had punished her for losing his young plaything, but he paid that no mind now.

' _ **I have a task for you. Rumor has reached me that Luthien somehow walks this world again. If it is so, she will be with the remaining Elves. Go. Determine whether there is truth in this or not. Do this, then return to me, and you will be forgiven for losing my prisoner**_.' He shielded his mind once he had given his command, caring little for any protests she might make about drawing too close to the Elves' camps. He needed information, and Thuringwethil would obey his words, not daring to defy him. He was certain of it.

Alone with his thoughts once more, he returned to his heated fantasies of having not one, but two, exquisite ellith to use at his whim. The thought only grew more appealing, even as it whetted his more... primal appetites.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations: Ellith- plural of elleth, which means female Elf.


	27. Chapter 27

Arwen curled up into a tight of a ball as she could, preparing for another night camping in the open. For the five years she had dwelled in the cottage, she thought she had adjusted to sleeping in a bed once more, and lying flat, but now they were on the move, she found herself reverting to her older habit of sleeping huddled up- it had been a necessity while captive in the fortress, as the only way of gaining any warmth. It likely made her look odd to her brothers, but she did not care. It made her feel safer.

They had traveled swiftly all day, keeping to the same harsh pace they had since leaving the cottage. It was grueling enough that Nienor (and Arwen herself) were glad to halt each night, even though, until now, they had had to sleep under the stars, with no true shelter. It made sleep hard, for Arwen at least, lowering her guard, defenseless in sleep, with nothing between her and anyone or anything that might be looking. She had been relieved today when they had reached a small cave, to rest in for the night. She had, at once, taken her blanket and situated herself at the very back of the cave, feeling safer in an enclosed space. Traveling in daylight, across open plains, had unnerved her, though they had seen no hide nor hair of any other living beings. She did not like being so exposed.

Huan, who had walked patiently at her side all day, despite surely being able to move much faster than she was able, now laid down beside her. Stretched out, he was longer than she was tall, and, with her in her curled position, his form blocked her from the view of the others entirely. That, and the warmth radiating from his thick fur, helped her to relax, and she began to think she might actually sleep after all.

Nienor had lain a blanket just on the other side of Huan, sharing in his warmth, and was already drifting into sleep, while Turin, Elladan and Elrohir remained near the mouth of the cave, and spoke quietly- organizing watches, so someone would be on guard throughout the night, she assumed, as they had each night since they'd set out. But by then, Huan's warm heavy weight was making her drowsy, and before she knew it, she had fallen asleep.

She awoke some time later, jerking back into wakefulness, abruptly aware that she was icy-cold. That, and being in an unlit chamber, and feeling stone beneath her hands, had dread pounding through her like a drumbeat. She hadn't escaped at all. She was still in Morgoth's grasp, and the things that had happened- escaping, meeting Turin and Nienor, building a family of sorts, seeing her brothers again- it had all been a cruel dream. She would never be free.

Hunching forward, she let out a weak, keening noise, grasping her hair in her hands, ripping at it, something that had become a habit when fear overcame her.

“Arwen?” The low, male voice, and the soft whine that accompanied it, broke her somewhat out of her paroxysm of fear, and she glanced up, hardly daring to breathe until her eyes adjusted to make out the figure standing beside Huan, near the cave mouth.

“Elladan,” she managed to gasp out, scrambling to her feet and willing her heart-rate to slow down. _You're safe_ , she told herself firmly. _You're not still there in that black fortress, you're just in a cave to ward off the winter chill_. Slowly, her anxiety subsided. Glancing around, she could make out the huddled shapes of Nienor and Elrohir, asleep under blankets and breathing evenly, and Turin, supposedly asleep, but laying remarkably still and silent if that were the case. As she was stepping over them- not easy in the limited space- she moved to join her brother, while keeping out of his reach out of habit, and she realized why she must have woken- because Huan had woken, got up and moved, taking his warmth with him, and dislodging her blanket by mistake in the process, leaving her cold. His wet nose nudged her, and as she glanced at him, he gave her an apologetic look. She scratched his ears to show she had no hard feelings. Huan huffed and returned his gaze to the land outside the tiny cave.

She stared, following his gaze. “What is it?” She could see nothing out there, but she got the uncanny feeling that something was watching the cave, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

“I know not.” Elladan's tone was low. “But something spies upon us.”

Huan let out a low, warning growl, his hackles rising, eyes now fixed on a rocky outcropping around twenty yards from the cave-mouth. Arwen strained her eyes, and could see Elladan doing the same, and eventually, she could make out what looked like a shadow, leaping to the top of the rock pile, before diving back behind it, again and again. It appeared bipedal, from what she could make out, or, at least, it could stand upon its hind legs, but it was too large to be an Orc or a Man. And- she listened hard- were those _claws_ , clacking so against the rock as the creature moved?

Huan tensed, muscles bunching, another growl ripping from his throat, and then, without warning, he had leaped forward, clearing the space between him and the rock-pile in one bound, pouncing upon the whatever-it-was. Both vanished behind the rocks, and Huan's snarls were mingled with an almost feline-sounding hissing and yowling.

After a few minutes, silence fell, and then Huan strode back around the rocks, his tail held high, his jaw clamped on the back of the neck of his opponent.

Arwen blinked. Repeatedly. She then looked to Elladan, to make sure that he was seeing what she saw. Judging from the way his jaw had dropped open, he had to be.

Huan 'escorted' over a most bizarre being! Now walking on all fours, it was somewhat smaller than Huan, but it was as animal-like as he was, albeit in feline form. Covered in sleek black fur, with cunning, gleaming red eyes, it surveyed them warily, its long tail whipping back and forth. Most oddly of all, it wore a gleaming gold collar, set with jewels!

Turin and Elrohir, who must have been awoken by the sounds of Huan and the cat-creature fighting, emerged from the cave. Nienor followed, but Turin moved so that she could not come close to the strange interloper.

It glared at them all, one by one, before hissing once more. Then, to all of their utter shock, it _spoke_.

“Who dares to manhandle Tevildo, Prince of Cats?!" Its voice was strange, as if a cat's yowls had been given form in words. "Setting a mangy _dog_ on me, of all things, after trespassing in my own territory!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tevildo, Prince of Cats, is what I'd call a semi-canon character: he appeared in the Book of Lost Tales, in an earlier form of the Tale of Beren and Luthien called the Tale of Tinuviel. His role of capturing Beren and having to free him when Luthien and Huan defeated him, losing command of his home was taken by Sauron in true Silmarillion canon. I find him intriguing though, so am using him here. Though I haven't decided if my version of Tevildo will be a servant of Morgoth, or just a malicious or mischievous creature who serves his own ends. If anyone has opinions on this, I'd love to hear them! 
> 
> https://lotr.fandom.com/wiki/Tevildo?file=Telvildo.jpg
> 
> The link is here in case anyone wants to know what he looks like.


	28. Chapter 28

Huan had spent the last few days in an ill temper. The pack he was escorting back to safety had decided, after some debate, to allow the absurd cat-creature to join him in his task. Now, he had no objection to additional help in his duties in guarding them- four ears were better than two, and two noses were superior to one, so guarding the small pack would be a simpler task now. But... He let out a low growl as the large feline's red eyes pierced the night, fixed upon him. Why did it have to be a _cat_? The beast had already proved itself an utter nuisance, shedding fur over absolutely everything, scent-marking every chance it got on items belonging to Huan's two-legged companions, and attempting to steal morsels from the few rations the two-leggeds had, instead of finding its own meals as a true hunter ought to: Huan's growls and snarls were the only thing that kept the cat from stealing _all_ the food. Oh, how he longed to see it off, but it had promised the fastest route to the Elven encampment- as long as it could guide them through 'its' territory. In exchange for its 'service', none of them could harm it. Huan had grudgingly gone along with it, little though he liked it. That said, he never let the creature sleep anywhere near young Arwen, always guarding her, as she seemed, to him, to be the weakest of this small pack.

Now, after the lengthy journey (during which the stench of cat had thoroughly fouled all the two-leggeds and Huan) they were a mere day's walk from the Elven camp, and Huan fully expected Tevildo, as the cat named itself, to be seen off shortly. He would be more than pleased to help with that, also.

He had other concerns, though: the further they had traveled, the more troubled young Arwen seemed. Nightmares constantly disturbed her sleep, she barely ate, and had hardly spoken to anyone, withdrawing as if she wished she could simply disappear. Her litter-mates, or 'brothers', as the two-legged term went, kept trying to coax her to respond, but to no avail. The two Mortals seemed better at tending to her- giving her food, but also giving her space, something the twins seemed to find rather difficult. Curiously, Arwen seemed to have less of an issue with Huan. Perhaps it was only the company of two-leggeds she did not wish for? It was not right, Huan mused, as he walked beside her, as had become his habit. She should welcome her own kindred. If not, if this small pack distressed her, how would she cope in the far larger camp? But, without his former gift of speech, he had no way of finding any answers.

Turin and Nienor, the mortals of this particular pack, had grown quiet and morose as well, the closer they got to the camp, which was probably not helping Arwen's problems. All Huan could think to try was, when they actually got to the camp, in a few hours, was to bring them all to his mistress and master, Luthien and Beren, and hope that one of them knew some way to heal the hurts among this pack.

Some time later, as the Sun began to sink into the West, the camp came into view. Turin bade Tevildo farewell, (aided by Huan's snarls, as he was glad to finally see the cat off) and it was gone in the blink of an eye. There the small pack halted, and it was decided that Huan and the twins would lead the way into the camp, as they were known to the scouts and guards, and should hopefully not be shot as intruders. Turin, Nienor and Arwen would follow, but Arwen, at her own insistence, would go cloaked and hooded until they were inside the pavilion used by her grandparents, as it appeared she did not want a huge fuss made of her reappearance. Turin and Nienor had not said as much, but Huan had heard their sighs of relief at not being announced to the whole camp at once.

Huan personally would have liked to go to find Beren and Luthien immediately, but no-one had requested his advice, and besides, he could easily fetch them once he had seen this pack to Celeborn and Galadriel. He sniffed, then growled low in his throat. They were almost to the camp entrance, and he could _still_ pick up that cat's stench. If he had not agreed to lead the pack into the heart of the camp, he would race off now to be certain the wretched Tevildo was not still following them. But, he had a duty to perform. He walked sedately between the twins as the scouts spied them, calling them to halt, risking only one glance back to ensure that Turin, Nienor, and a still-hooded and cloaked Arwen were just behind them, as the group of Elves who had been on sentry duty dropped from the trees and approached. Huan's tail wagged slightly, and he was scarcely listening to the twins speaking to the other Elves: he had done what needed to be done, his task was almost complete, and soon he could rejoin his master and mistress, bearing good news of their pups' reunion with their sister, and their safe return to camp.


	29. Chapter 29

Arwen huddled inside her cloak, clutching it tightly to her as if she were warding off a chill despite the day not being that cold. She kept her head bowed, and stayed as close to Nienor as she could as they moved through the camp, her skin crawling as she felt the curious gazes of dozens of Elves on her. The tension radiating off of Turin and Nienor reassured her slightly- she was not the only one feeling ill at ease. The twins hadn't said who they would be meeting first, but the thought of revealing herself to _anyone_ made her want to flee now, this very minute. Except, she couldn't. Thuringwethil had gotten close to the cottage, so it was no longer safe there. Like it or not- and she decidedly did not- relocating to this encampment was their best choice now.

Elladan, Elrohir and Huan slipped into a large tent, the twins beckoning to them to follow. She heard Turin inhale deeply, and glanced over to see him squaring his shoulders, as if bracing himself, before standing at his full height, his expression almost haughty, and striding into the tent as if he owned it. Nienor sighed, letting her hand brush against Arwen's, the lightest touch, one of their ways of sharing comfort with one another when uncertainty seized them, before following her brother, her own head now lowered. For the first time, it truly dawned on Arwen that perhaps Nienor- and Turin- were not comfortable with being here either. Why this came as a shock, she did not know- she knew their history, knew all that they had endured, but since the rushed series of events that brought them here, so suddenly, she had thought only of herself. The extent of her selfishness made her feel sick- Turin and Nienor had been nothing but kind and accommodating to her since they had met, they'd upheld the lies she had told her brothers about the events of her captivity, and she could not spare a second to think of how _they_ might be feeling, now they too had been forced to rejoin Elven society, because Thuringwethil had come too close, which might not have happened if it weren't for her... She would have to be more attentive, try to help them now if they needed it. Digging her nails into her own palms, she forced herself to move, to follow Nienor into the large tent, even as her heart pounded with fear and perspiration began beading on her skin. Her throat tightened, and breathing became more difficult. But she was inside.

She froze almost instantly. The tent was simply full of people! Or so it seemed, as Arwen fought the urge to simply cower behind Nienor. Besides herself, Nienor, Turin, Huan and the twins, there were four others, three Elves and one being who _looked_ like an aged, grey-bearded Mortal Man, but that she somehow knew was more than he appeared. Struggling to steady her breathing, she managed to glance up several times, though she could not bring herself to maintain eye contact with any of them. It scarcely mattered anyway. These strangers within the tent had not noticed her at all yet: they were either lecturing (nigh on shouting) at Elladan and Elrohir, or staring at Turin and Nienor in utter shock.

Except... they were _not_ strangers. Not all of them. Vague, foggy memories surfaced in her mind. The two ellyn currently berating the twins, one tall and silver-haired, the other with dark-brown hair and haunted eyes... they were family. _Daeradar (Celeborn) and Maglor_. The names came to her unbidden. Then, the golden-tressed elleth standing beside Daeradar, whose eyes were piercing into Turin and Nienor, although she stood silent... that was Daernaneth. It was so strange- she knew who they were, had known and loved them all, once, but now... it was as if these were people that someone else had told her about. She felt no connection, no bond with them at all. Would it be the same if she encountered her parents? That notion made her shiver.

The not-Man stepped forward next, his dark eyes deep and unfathomable, his tattered grey robes doing little to mask the noble air he gave off, at least to Arwen's eyes. He, more than anyone, gave the impression of seeing through her, and so she did not dare to meet his gaze fully. Not yet. A simple raised hand from him stopped the clamor of voices, and Arwen exhaled in relief, her tension easing in the silence.

The grey-robed Man spoke, his voice deep, gruff, but somehow kindly, addressing the Elves. “I do not suppose it has occurred to any of you that these young rascals,” here he gestured towards Elladan and Elrohir “Did not set forth by chance and then simply stumble across Turin and Nienor.” His dark eyes shifted towards Arwen, and it took all she had not to recoil. She would have to reveal herself, she knew that, but, right now, the cloak and hood she wore felt like armor, impenetrable and perfect for keeping her safe. Once she removed them, she would be vulnerable. Exposed.

Daernaneth's eyes shifted to him. “You knew something of my grandsons' plans, and their whereabouts, Mithrandir? And mayhap you had a hand in the fact that I could sense naught of their location until they re-entered this camp?” There was a dangerous undertone in her voice, and Arwen honestly could not decide whether it was that she should be afraid, or that this Mithrandir being ought to be.

“Yes,” Mithrandir replied, “And had you paid attention to what they had been trying to tell you before they departed, Lady Galadriel, you too would have deduced why they left, what they sought.”

In her peripheral vision, Arwen could see that the twins' faces were almost... smug. What could that be about?

Maglor folded his arms. “This is no time for obscure riddles, Mithrandir. As fortuitous as it is that Elladan and Elrohir discovered these two,” he indicated Turin and Nienor, both of whom scowled at being spoken of as if they weren't there, although Nienor's hand upon Turin's arm kept him from retorting to Maglor's words. “And brought them to safety, I also note there is another in their party, who seems oddly inclined to remain hidden despite being among friends.” He stepped closer to Arwen without warning, and she immediately flinched back, cringing from the thought of any male coming near her.

Almost as if they had planned it, Turin and Nienor moved in unison, blocking Maglor's path to her, Nienor speaking softly but firmly, her small hand upraised, facing off with the much taller ellon. “Wait.”

Arwen felt a swell of gratitude towards them. At least she had some people who understood her amongst these strangers-who-were-kin. She was not utterly alone. Feeling six pairs of eyes- three curious and suspicious, (her grandparents and Maglor) one somehow feeling gentle, (Mithrandir) and two others giving off a sensation of hope, almost pleading (the twins)- on her still made her feel ill, but she had agreed to do this. She had come this far.

Her hands trembled as she raised them to the edges of her hood, and suddenly she noticed that Huan had left her side, and was leaving the tent. She wished the hound had remained- his huge size had been comforting, somehow, she felt safer with him beside her. That said, kind as he was, he was not _her_ dog. He had escorted her here, along with the others, because the twins wanted him to do so, and now chances were he had gone back to the people he truly loved. People who weren't as tainted and disgusting as she was. _Luthien's dog. He is returning to her._ Again, Arwen felt that illogical but powerful surge of loathing when she thought of her venerated ancestress, and again she fought to crush it- being angry with Luthien for Morgoth's actions against her made no sense whatsoever. Luthien (and Beren) had not even been returned to Life when Morgoth had had her kidnapped. _But then why do I keep feeling this way?_ Valar only knew what would happen, how her tumultuous emotions might make her react if, or more likely, when, she actually _met_ Luthien...

She realized she had frozen in mid-movement, and that probably made her look ridiculous. Fear of identifying herself surged within her once more, but, reminding herself that Turin and Nienor were here, and that they would not let anyone harm her, she sucked in a deep breath, braced herself, and pushed back her hood, revealing her face.

The chorus of stifled gasps, and the silence that followed, felt as heavy as granite. Arwen trembled where she stood, having no idea if any of these people, her family, even recognized her, or if they truly wanted to see her. They could not know what an unclean _thing_ she had become, of course, there was no way for them to know about that, but even so... All they were doing was staring, wide-eyed and pale faced. Daernaneth's eyes shone with unshed tears, her lips forming Arwen's name, but issuing no sound, Daeradar's mouth hung open, slack with shock, and Maglor stared as if he did not believe she was truly there.

Mithrandir, rolling his eyes, was the first to break the silence. “Do none of you have anything to say to each other?!” His eyes met Arwen's, and, despite her hatred of anyone gazing at her, there was a softness in her eyes, a compassion, that calmed her without words. His voice, when he spoke directly to her, was kindness personified, an odd feeling for her. “Since the other adults here seem to have lost the power of speech, I will speak for them. I for one am glad to see you safely back among your own kind, where you belong, young Elrondiel, and I have nothing but respect for one who has endured and escaped captivity in the Enemy's stronghold.” He released her from his eyes and turned to Turin and Nienor. “Thanks are owed to you both as well, for giving young Arwen shelter while she regained her strength these past few years. I am sure all here will echo the sentiment once they recover their wits. And I believe the twins may be owed an apology, for all the times they told you that their sister lived, and you took no notice.” This last was aimed at Daernaneth, Daeradar and Maglor, before Mithrandir swept from the tent, leaving them alone.

Arwen swallowed hard and gulped, heart racing. What was she meant to _say_ , now? Could she just leave this tent? Not that she knew of anywhere she could go to be alone, in this new place... A wave of longing for her small room in the cottage washed over her, and she ducked her head once again. “Hello.” She finally managed, her voice barely audible.

A barrage of questions followed, about how she was alive, where she had been, what had happened to her, how her appearance had changed so, and she hunched in on herself, blocking it out, letting Turin and Nienor, and the twins, deflect their questions. _I don't want to be here. I want to go home to the cottage._

Knowing that she could never do that only made the dense black cloud of her emotions press down harder on her. She didn't belong here, among these people, with their kindnesses and their gentle questions, their prying at memories that she only wanted to forget.

Spending any amount of time with the twins as they traveled here, and trying to pass for the elleth they had once known had been a huge effort for her. Having to deal with others who wanted answers, needing to keep reinforcing her lie-by-omission, that only Thuringwethil had hurt her, to people who might not be as easily fooled as Elladan and Elrohir had been, would only make matters worse.

 _Whatever happens now, please, Valar, don't let Turin and Nienor leave me_. She needed them, now more than ever, or she would never survive living in this place.


	30. Chapter 30

Nienor sighed heavily as she let herself all but fall to the ground of the tent that, after much argument, she and Arwen had been given to share, in an area not shared with many others, granting them a fair amount of privacy. They had only been in the camp for a few hours, and already she was exhausted! It had taken great patience to finally stem the inquisition from Arwen's family, and then Lady Galadriel had announced that Arwen would be lodged, alone, in a tent surrounded by her family, while Turin and Nienor would be housed elsewhere. None except Nienor herself and Turin had seen Arwen blanch at that, her face suddenly ashen, and, knowing that she lacked the confidence to protest that decision herself, Nienor had spoken up, even as she wanted to cower from Galadriel's gaze. It took extensive debating, and, at last, a heart-rending plea from Arwen, but at last, Nienor had been granted permission to remain with her. Turin was not happy at being ordered elsewhere, away from the two of them, but some sacrifices would have to be made. This was not their cottage, where any and all rules had been decided by them alone. Nienor was not certain who actually ruled over this enclave, but the Elves they had encountered thus far were all powerful beings in their own right. It would not do to make enemies of them so soon.

Arwen herself, at present, was sitting close to Nienor, hunched over, her arms around her knees. She had only answered the bare minimum of her family's questions herself, when she utterly had to, and for the entire ordeal, her body language had made it clear she was not at ease and only wanted to be left alone. She had not, in truth, been dismissed along with Nienor- in fact, there had been a distinct expectation that she would stay and speak to her grandparents in private, the twins already having departed to show Turin to his tent, close to theirs, but when Nienor had received the 'suggestion' to leave, Arwen had simply followed as if they were attached to one another. Once out in the open, Arwen had raised her hood again, and, out of consideration for her, Nienor had walked quickly and in silence, leading the way to the small tent they had been assigned.

Stealing a glance at her, Nienor sighed. Normally, with Arwen in such a mood, she would have simply let her speak when she was ready, about whatever was troubling her (having gotten very good at not reacting with horror to anything Arwen might disclose) but here, in this camp, they could not know who might overhear, and as Arwen seemed determined to uphold the partial truth she had told the twins, then speaking plainly would be ill-advised.

“Do you think we will see Turin soon?” Arwen's voice was so despondent that Nienor's heart ached- from her tone, she clearly viewed this separation as permanent.

“Of course we will.” Nienor could not keep the wry smile from her face. “Do you honestly think Turin will let anyone keep him from checking on us every hour or so?”

Arwen's lips twitched in what could have been a smile, and then, as if on cue, the tent flap shifted, as someone pushed at it. No-one spoke, however, and Nienor, despite the safety she was sure they had in this camp, stared warily at the bulging fabric. Arwen had tensed, and shifted closer to Nienor, as if seeking protection, as a strange huffing sound reached them.

Then the tent flap parted, and a familiar furry grey head peered in at them, tongue lolling. Nienor almost laughed in relief- it was merely Huan, come to find them. Or, she corrected as the great hound maneuvered his way into the tent that was really too small for him, climbing over Nienor to do so, apparently he had come to check on Arwen.

He sniffed at her once or twice, before licking her hand as if in greeting. Arwen relaxed, as if drawing comfort from Huan's presence, and she managed a small smile. “Hello, Huan.” She stroked his grey head almost cautiously. “I didn't think to see you again.” Her words were softly spoken, so even Nienor could scarcely hear her, but Huan whined, as if reproaching Arwen for her assumption. Nuzzling her, he wagged his tail a few times (neatly swatting Nienor in the process) before letting out a low bark, as if to reveal his presence to someone outside.

“Huan, where are you? You have been told before, you cannot simply barge into others' tents without their permission!” A musical, lilting woman's voice laughed, sweeter than any sound Nienor had ever heard, and unconsciously she leaned towards the voice, willing the woman to speak again.

Huan let out another bark, as if in reply, and before Nienor or Arwen had a chance to react, the tent flap opened once more, and an elleth slipped inside, ducking so that she could enter.

“I apologise for my intrusion, and for Huan's,” She said, straightening to her full height. “I hope he has not been bothering... you...” She trailed off as her eyes fell upon Arwen, and widened with shock. “I.. I had heard.... you must be Arwen Elrondiel.” Her voice shook with some suppressed emotion.

Nienor could do nothing but stare at their visitor. Her first instinct had been to stand and bow, certain that Melian stood before her, but this elleth, as like to the Maia as she was, was also different. _Luthien_ , she realized, dazed with shock and awe, unable to think what to do or say. Not that it mattered, for Luthien had only eyes for Arwen, though how she could know of her identity or her presence here, confounded Nienor. Perhaps Huan had told her somehow?

For Arwen's own part, she stared at her ancestress for a long moment, her face unreadable, before her eyes hardened and she merely turned away, refusing to look at her or at Nienor, even when Huan whined and nudged at her. Her fists were clenched so tightly that veins bulged beneath her skin, but she did not react in any other way. It was almost as if she feared to look upon Luthien, and Nienor silently cursed herself. The twins had _told_ her of the return of Luthien and Beren. On the way here, why had she not raised this possibility with Arwen?

“Arwen?” Luthien's voice, beautiful as it was, was now somewhat hesitant. Nienor looked at her questioningly. She seemed almost uneasy around her young descendant... could it be that she already knew, somehow, of what had happened to her while she was Morgoth's captive? Melian had always had great knowledge of what occurred elsewhere, leagues away, after all... If that were true, perhaps it would help Arwen, to have someone else to confide in?

Without warning, Arwen lurched to her feet, keeping her face hidden, and, barging past the three of them, raced from the tent, bolting almost out of sight before Nienor even managed to set foot outside.

Nienor's heart sank as she lost sight of her. Now what should she do? She would have to explain this bizarre behavior to Luthien somehow, but also, she needed to find Arwen. Hopefully, she had merely run to find Turin, but if not... who knew just what was going on in Arwen's mind, or how clearly she was thinking? Nienor stumbled as Huan knocked into her, bounding off in the direction Arwen had gone, his nose to the ground. Just managing to keep her footing, she felt relief at least that Arwen would not be alone, although she was not entirely certain that Huan counted as company.

A slender hand rested on her shoulder, and, bracing herself, Nienor turned to face Luthien, excuses already falling from her lips. “I am sorry, Arwen has been through a lot, and sometimes she acts oddly...” She hated herself for speaking this way, but, in case Luthien did _not_ know what past nightmares caused Arwen's behavior, Nienor knew she had to choose her words carefully- she could not break Arwen's confidence about what Morgoth had done to her.

There was mingled pain, grief and tenderness in Luthien's eyes as she regarded Nienor, leaving the mortal woman with the odd feeling that all her thoughts and past had been laid bare, yet somehow, she did not mind, sensing no condemnation in Luthien's gaze. This was followed by a flash of what could have been horror or rage in those fathomless silver-grey eyes, but it was gone or hidden an instant later. “You need not fear. Huan will guard her until she calms.” Luthien stared in the direction Arwen had vanished. “Some hurts simply need time to be healed.”

Nienor nodded in silent agreement, though concern for Arwen did not leave her, and likely would not until she re-appeared. A sudden thought struck her, and ice flooded her veins. It was said that Luthien, like Melian and Galadriel, could perceive the thoughts of others, and, facing her, Nienor no longer doubted it. A moment ago, there had been horror and rage in Luthien's gaze. Valar help her, had _she_ just unwittingly told Luthien what Arwen had endured?! She thought Luthien had known some of it anyway, somehow, but if not, if this was her doing, Arwen would never forgive her for it... And yet, surely, if it was not treated like a shameful secret, it could only help Arwen to accept that she was not to blame for it? A small part of her was uncertain if she was thinking of Arwen alone in that moment, or also of herself and her own twisted, dark history with Turin- But that would be utterly selfish- as if that mattered at all compared to what Arwen had been forced to endure!

Luthien's hand slipped around Nienor's, squeezing it as if offering comfort for her unspoken words.

Nienor simply stood there, too fraught with conflicting emotions to speak at present.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil appears in this chapter, and my version of him is based on Lee Pace's performance in Desolation of Smaug and Battle of the Five Armies. I'm sorry if my interpretation of the character offends any readers who dislike the Hobbit movies.

Turin, left alone by the twins in the tent he had been assigned, found himself pacing back and forth, troubled thoughts about Arwen and Nienor circling in his mind. He had not been truly alone since his return to Life, and he found he did not enjoy solitude, not least because he truly believed that being forcibly separated from them would only hurt Arwen. At least Nienor had managed to obtain permission to stay with her, even if he had not. _Permission._ He scoffed. He had never truly enjoyed having to capitulate to the will of others, not since he had grown to adulthood, and having to do so now rankled. He was more than capable of making decisions for himself!

 _Except, each time you did so, in your former life, you brought nothing but suffering, upon yourself and others._ Turin flinched, wishing he could deny the truth of his own thoughts. Still... perhaps it _was_ best to surrender his pride for a while. If he co-operated, he would likely be granted more freedoms to move within the camp sooner, and thus, sooner be able to re-unite with his sisters (he did not know when he had begun viewing Arwen as such, making no distinction between her and Nienor, but it hardly mattered, that was who she was to him now.) Sighing, he looked around. It was a typical tent of a common soldier. No doubt the Elves here who knew of his identity wanted it kept secret for as long as possible. He would not argue with that, knowing there would be endless questions, and demands on his time, as soon as his name was revealed. He should relish the peace he had, for as long as he could.

Speaking of endless questions, he frowned, recalling how relentless Galadriel, Celeborn and the other (who was evidently Maglor Feanorian, and why was _he_ here? His family had not been welcome among the Sindar in Turin's time!) had been in questioning Arwen, before the twins had led Turin away. His heart clenched, remembering the fear that he'd seen in her eyes. Perhaps he should have argued harder to remain with her? Except, it would not be wise to begin their time here by arguing and making demands, and had he not _just_ thought to himself that he needed to try and get along with those that ruled here? He grimaced as his thoughts began to become circular, problems with no solution.

The fabric of the tent shifted, and an ellon slipped in. It was an effort for Turin not to reach for a weapon, but he settled for glowering at the intruder, noting at first only the long pale blond hair. “Is it custom here to barge in to one's dwelling without permission?”

The ellon shrugged diffidently. “If you call a tent a 'dwelling.”

His haughty tone stirred some memory in Turin, and he stared at the Elf, recalling (as he thought) this voice and manner from one he had known in Doriath, in his long-ago childhood. “Oropher?”

A brow arched. “You do me an honor, mistaking me for my father, son of Hurin, but no. Oropher passed to Mandos long ago.”

“ _Thranduil?_ ” Turin could not believe it- the last time he had seen this one, he had been but an adolescent. Now, before him stood a great Lord of Elves, judging by his manner and style of dress.

“I take it you are as surprised to see me as I was when I noticed Elrond's sons escorting you. I was sure my eyes deceived me, but wished to be sure. You'll forgive my unasked visit to make certain, I'm sure.” Thranduil's voice was confidence personified- clearly, he did not expect contradiction. If so, Turin thought grimly, he was in for a surprise.

“Well, now you are sure of who I am and have sated your curiosity, I'm sure you will be pleased to take your leave, will you not?” Turin sounded calmer than he felt- he was not some relic in a library to be gawked at!

“Has your sister returned also?” Thranduil's tone was polite as ever, but there was a look in his eyes that Turin did not like.

“What concern is that of yours?”

Thranduil shrugged. “None, I suppose.” A pause. “I trust your sojourn here will not end the way your time in Doriath did.” He was not smiling, as such, but his expression was smug, as if he enjoyed needling Turin, for some reason.

Turin's fists clenched, remembering Saeros, and, later, Beleg... Willing himself to remember that punching someone would do him no favors, he spoke through clenched teeth. “Are you here solely to prod at old wounds?”

“No, no, of course not! I merely wished to warn you that I am not the only one who will remember things such as this, and...” Thranduil tilted his head to one side, “I am sure it would go a long way to stemming such uncomfortable questions of it were known how soon you intend to join our forces in stopping the Enemy?” From the gleam in his eyes, he clearly expected an answer, and, Turin privately thought, hoped that answer would be 'soon if not immediately', but he would be disappointed.

“If you wish for news on how the war progresses, Thranduil, I suggest you ask one of the captains here. As I have newly arrived in this camp from a time of seclusion, I know little of such things. And I will fight as and when the need arises, or when I am called to do so, of course, as all warriors do.” Turin was quite impressed with his own self-restraint. The polite words he spoke were far from what was passing through his mind at Thranduil's attitude- how dare he assume Turin was here for naught but immediately joining the war? Fine, he _was_ here for that, but he had other priorities to think of first.

Thranduil blinked. “I assumed the first thing you would do would be seek out our captains yourself. Your valor is much spoken of, although you may not know it. I'm sure you would have your own command as soon as you wished for it.”

“Perhaps, but at present, I wish only for time to settle in before I decide what to do next. Now, if there was nothing else?” Turin looked pointedly at the tent door, making his wish for privacy clear.

Thranduil's cold blue eyes narrowed. “The Turin I remember wanted nothing more than to do anything and everything he could to halt the Enemy.”

“The Turin you remember was a hotheaded churl who ended up bringing little more than ruin, Thranduil. People change.” He surprised himself as he said it, realizing as if for the first time how true it was, what a fool he had once been.

Thranduil's face twisted, as if fighting a sneer, before he turned and half left the tent. “I will leave you to your thoughts, then.” His tone made his displeasure clear. “I hope you understand though, that others will expect to see you joining our warriors before too long. You may be viewed as a symbol of hope- or of doom.” And with that, he was gone.

Turin took several deep breaths, trying to calm down and prevent himself from going after Thranduil and continuing their 'discussion'. Had Oropher been so cold, thrown out so many barbed comments, or was that unique to his son alone? Surely Oropher, who had been a warrior alongside him occasionally, on the marches of Doriath, had not acted in that underhanded way? He thought not, but perhaps time had softened his memories. That, or Thranduil was just twisted and warped by war and hardship, as Turin himself had once been. Either way, he resolved to try to avoid the ellon from now on. He was no friend to him, that much was clear. He seemed only to want to see Turin thrown straight into the middle of the war, seeing only the famed warrior, not the person behind the reputation. How many others would be like that, he thought grimly, only welcoming him because of his supposed role in finally slaying the Enemy, and gossiping about his past behind his back? He could endure it, he cared little for malicious whispers, but Nienor... she did not deserve such things. And yet, sadly, people could not be ordered not to talk among themselves. And he had no doubt that Thranduil would spread word of his return, in hopes of getting his own way. There was no solution.

He stepped outside, turning his face to the sky, as if it would somehow provide answers or comfort. Instead, the merest whisper of a footstep caught his attention, and he just caught a glimpse of someone moving rapidly, seeming to be of no more substance than a shadow, feet barely brushing the ground as they darted towards him, moving faster than even any Elf Turin had ever known. He tensed, then relaxed when the 'shadow' paused before him, and he recognized Arwen. She was pale and clearly ill at ease, but did not appear harmed. Her shoulders slumped with relief when he stepped aside, allowing her into his tent.

He did glance around, unsure, as she disappeared within. If Thranduil was still spying, this would not look good, him alone with an elleth whom Thranduil might not even recognize, but on the other hand, he knew that Arwen only wished to be in his presence, presumably because she felt crowded, surrounded by others, and his tent was isolated enough to give her the feeling of security that she craved.

Deciding he did not care who saw, he ducked inside to check on her. She sat hunched over, arms around her knees, her face blank.

“What happened?” He sat, but kept some distance from her, as he knew that getting too close would only cause her to become more agitated.

“Huan came to find me.” Her voice was a monotone. “And Luthien followed, searching for him.”

Turin started. _Luthien?!_ Seconds later, he could have kicked himself: he and Nienor had returned, Huan was back, why would his mistress (and presumably master as well, since he doubted that Luthien would have returned without Beren) not be? Regarding Arwen, and remembering some of the things she had told him of her time in Morgoth's grasp, the things the Enemy had told her of Luthien, he could easily guess what she would have thought upon setting eyes upon her. It was no surprise she had wanted to get away from her. “Did you say anything?” He did not clarify what he meant- he was already considering various ways to explain away any comments Arwen might have made, without revealing any of her past.

“No.” The same flat voice. “I... couldn't. I just ran.”

Turin sighed, closing his eyes for a minute. “I understand, but you will have to go back and face her eventually.”

Arwen opened her mouth. He spoke again, forestalling her. “I know you don't want to, but problems don't disappear if you run from them.”

“You used to.” Arwen muttered sullenly, not meeting his gaze.

“Yes, and if you recall how that ended, that should tell you something right there, don't you think?”

Arwen shook her head, her unbound black and silver hair falling around her face like a veil, hiding her expression. “You don't understand. What she said, the way she looked at me... I think she knows, or suspects what happened. What Morgoth did to me.” Her voice broke and she reverted to her old habit of yanking at her hair, pulling some out and casting it aside. Turin restrained the urge to stop her- this had long since become a way for her to focus her mind on the present, bad for her as it was. “I _can't_ be near her.” She curled up, hiding her face in her knees, shoulders shaking with sobs.

Stunned, Turin was at a loss for words. How could that be, if Arwen was right? Luthien could not have been returned much longer than he and Nienor had been, how could she possibly know... Unless, of course, it was little more than guesswork and fear on Luthien's part. All knew what Morgoth had desired of the half-Maia when she had stolen the Silmaril, by rumor, at least, and really, all it would have taken would be for word to reach Luthien of a descendant of hers who greatly resembled her being taken captive, and she likely would have filled in the rest of it on her own. In that case, her actually encountering Arwen, and seeing the condition the younger elleth was in... Turin could not work out if it would end up being good or bad if Luthien did in fact know the truth, but, for now, he had to comfort Arwen. The only thing he could think to do, though, was to do what he had done for the past six years- just be there, and let her talk, or not, as she wanted. Except, that might not be enough now. But at any rate, he had learned it was best to let Arwen cry if she needed to, and then after, perhaps she would speak, and listen. As long as he could think of something to say.

Something dark on the ground caught his eye, and, frowning, he picked it up. It was a black feather, lying close to the strands of hair that Arwen had tossed aside. Where could that have come from?


	32. Chapter 32

Elladan and Elrohir wandered aimlessly, unsure of what to do with themselves now. If they were honest, they had expected some form of apology from those who had always insisted Arwen was dead, but they had received no such thing. Instead, immediately upon their return, they had been scolded for leaving as if they were elflings. Mithrandir's speaking up for them and encouraging Arwen to show herself had brought an end to that, but then Arwen had been questioned relentlessly by their kin, despite clearly being petrified. Turin, Nienor and the twins themselves had eventually managed to get things calmed down- somewhat. At which point, the debate over where the newcomers would be lodged had begun, and eventually, it had been decided that Nienor would remain with Arwen, due to the latter's own pleas and obvious fear. But at that point, Daeradar had 'suggested' that the twins show Turin to his own tent, some distance into the camp. This was clearly a ploy so that the adults could speak to Arwen alone- it was as if they had scarcely noticed how frightened she was!- but there had been little Elladan and Elrohir could do but obey.

Having shown Turin to where he would be staying, they found themselves adrift, as leaves floating aimlessly upon a breeze. For twenty mortal years, their sole focus, when not in battle, had been concentrating on finding Arwen and bringing her home. Now that had been accomplished, after a fashion, albeit with Arwen being much altered from the sister they remembered, nonetheless, she was back where she belonged, but now... what were they to do?

“We could always set forth again,” Elladan offered half-heartedly. “We _did_ agree that we would ensure Thuringwethil was punished for what she has done to Arwen.”

Elrohir nodded, but with little enthusiasm. “Perhaps. But would that help Arwen to settle once more? I do not think we should leave again, at least not indefinitely, until she feels more at ease. Besides, our grandparents truly would never forgive us if we vanished once more.”

A silence fell, and both slowly sat upon the grass, their heads bowed, neither twin wishing to voice the thought that lay heavily between them: what if Arwen never fully recovered, never again became the sister they had known, vital and full of joy?

Near-silent footsteps sounded close by, causing both to glance up. That they had heard anything at all suggested that whoever approached was no Elf, and, sure enough, it was Beren who walked towards them, his expression troubled, though his face smoothed when he met the twins' gazes, smiling wryly as he sat down, close to them.

“How are you two coping?” His voice was low, kindly almost. The twins exchanged looks- since the return of their ancestors, they had.... not exactly gone out of their way to avoid them, but... well, they had not welcomed them either. Setting aside how much Luthien had reminded them of Arwen, in looks at least, it was just too bizarre to interact with living legends, members of their family from ancient times, and see them as real people, not the epic heroes that had inspired so many tales and songs. And, thus far, their great-great grandparents had seemed to understand that and had given them space. Why was Beren intentionally seeking them out now?

“Celeborn told me that the two of you managed to find your sister, as well as... others of my own kin.” Beren answered their unspoken questions, though he asked no more about Turin or Nienor. “I would say congratulations, but I imagine Arwen is not... as she used to be. And that is unsettling for you both.”

They did not reply- he was right, but neither of them felt comfortable enough around him to speak their thoughts. Not yet. Even if it did give them some comfort to know that someone knew how they felt, how off-balance their world felt, with their beloved sister almost a stranger.

“Not to mention, seeing this task that has demanded so much of you coming to an end...” Beren glanced their way, his dark eyes sharp. “It does not feel finished, does it? And it has not concluded the way you hoped.”

Elladan, always the more stubborn of the two, stared resolutely anywhere but at Beren. Elrohir, however, returned his gaze, his shoulders slumping.

“She barely even seems to remember us at all.” He muttered, sounding almost resentful. “And it wasn't even us that saw her through the worst of her recovery.”

Beren nodded slowly. “And, because she seems to put more trust in people who, to you, are strangers, you're angry.”

“It's foolish to feel that way.” Elrohir shook his head. “We should just be grateful that she's alive, and that _anyone_ was there to help her when she escaped the Enemy's fortress and Thuringwethil's pursuit, but...” He lowered his head again.

“Feelings don't work that way... Elladan.” Beren was clearly making a guess at which twin he was addressing, and neither of them could keep from smirking slightly at his error. He sighed. “Do not tell me, you are Elrohir.” He rolled his eyes. “Twins. Why did my line have to produce _three sets_ of them?”

Seeing a chance to distract Beren from the topic of Arwen, and their complicated feelings towards her, Elladan grinned. “Luck, I suppose.”

Beren snorted. “ _Bad_ luck, possibly. Elured and Elurin loved claiming to be the other to confuse everyone when they were small.” His eyes were wistful now. “And then, when we returned, dwelling with Cirdan to begin with, the number of times I managed to call Elros by your father's name by accident, or faced them both and had no idea which was which-”

“What?!” Elladan and Elrohir's heads whipped round, staring at him, as they spoke in unison, utterly astounded. “Uncle Elros... he returned _with_ you? He's with Adar and Naneth at the Havens?”

“Why did no-one tell us?!”

Beren blinked. “I assumed someone had. I know you two are not on the best of terms with your parents at present, but-” His eyes shifted, going out of focus for a second, his expression distracted, head tilted slightly, as if he were listening to something they could not hear. When he looked at the twins once more, there was great turmoil in his brown eyes. He spoke slowly, apparently having completely forgotten the previous topic of discussion, and clearly choosing his words with great care. “When you located your sister... what did she say to you of her time in captivity?”

It was the twins' turn to blink, both wondering what could have brought about such an abrupt change in the conversation. “Not a lot.” Elladan stated eventually. “Just that she was tormented by Thuringwethil until she managed to escape. She said she did not wish to speak of it.”

The grim look on Beren's face now was harsh enough to make them both want to recoil, but he stood and turned away from them swiftly, as if he did not wish them to see his expression. His form was rigid with tension, his shaking fists tightly clenched, perhaps suppressing rage.

Elrohir, always better at reading between the lines, leaped to his feet and followed. “What is it, what's happened?” If something had happened to Arwen, if anyone had upset her, less than a day after she had joined them at this encampment, he would... well, he didn't know what he would do, but it wouldn't be pretty!

“Huan apparently decided he needed to introduce Luthien to Arwen. Nienor was with her at the time, and it seems your sister reacted badly.” Beren spoke quickly, almost as if he were translating someone else's words, and who knew, Elrohir reflected, perhaps he was. Their own parents could communicate thoughts through their marriage bond, surely Luthien and Beren could do the same. “Huan is likely still with Arwen- she wished for privacy and left- but Luthien glimpsed- she believes Arwen might have-” Beren, his face ashen, voice almost shaking with some horror or disgust, caught himself, as if he had only just remembered to whom he spoke, and pressed his suddenly bloodless lips together tightly, keeping his words within. Shaking his head, he began to walk away. He called back over his shoulder, his tone now carefully controlled and even. “I need to speak to my wife abut this. I apologize, I shouldn't have revealed so much to the two of you. Not yet, not when I do not know anything for certain.” And without another word, he was gone.

Elladan and Elrohir exchanged concerned looks, the shock of learning that Adar's twin brother also now lived again almost disappearing completely from their minds, replaced by fear and puzzlement over what they had just heard about Arwen. They waited until Beren was far enough away that he could not see them, then took to the treetops and followed him. Whatever the meaning behind his barely-connected sentences just then, it was obvious that Luthien had seen or sensed something distressing about Arwen, but then either she, or simply Beren alone, had decided they needed to hide it from the twins. And if that were true, then there was _no chance_ that Elladan and Elrohir would not find out what it was: they'd be damned if they let their sister down again by not learning something they needed to know about her, no matter how upsetting it might be!


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter includes a character having a panic attack, and hallucinating things from their past, leading to vague non-graphic recollections of torture and abuse.

Arwen tried not to tremble as she walked quickly back to her own tent, Turin finally having persuaded her to return. He would have escorted her, but an Elf that Turin had named Thranduil, whom Arwen did not recall clearly, had walked over as soon as he had left the tent, and Turin had led him away, presumably so he would not be able to see or bother Arwen as she walked back. Left alone, she had almost frozen, considering simply staying where she was, irrationally afraid of strangers seeing and possibly recognizing her, when chances were she would recall none of them. But, this Thranduil, whoever he was, had already come looking for Turin. What if someone else did, and found her here, alone? The thought of facing a stranger while she was utterly alone made her stomach churn. But that could happen whether she remained here, or returned to her own tent alone, so she could not decide what to do. Finally, she had peered out of the tent, showing nothing more than her eyes- and seen Huan sitting patiently outside, as if he had been waiting for her. She had no idea how long he had been there, but upon seeing her, his tail had wagged and he got to his feet, stretching. It looked like he might escort her back safely, so, steeling herself, she had left Turin's tent and begun walking, her shoulders hunched and head down, one hand buried in Huan's fur for comfort as he walked beside her. She could feel curious stares on her, making her skin crawl, but refused to look anywhere but at the ground before her feet, hoping that if she ignored everyone here, they would extend the same courtesy to her.

“Arwen? Is that... is that really you?” A male voice, sounding almost disbelieving, firmly destroyed that hope, but she kept her eyes on the ground, refusing to react or acknowledge the speaker. Perhaps if he got no reply, he would leave her alone.

It did not work out that way. Within minutes, a pair of soft leather boots invaded her vision. Someone, presumably the Elf who had hailed her, was now standing directly in front of her, unmoving. Her heart began to pound. She did not want to look up, did not want to deal with any attention at all, but sweat broke out on her skin, and shivers ran down her spine at the mere thought of a male standing close enough to touch her, without her being able to see what he might be doing.

Shuddering, she took a tiny step backwards, Huan moving with her, as she forced herself to look up. A relatively young ellon, with long blond hair, possibly around her age, stood before her. Clad in green and brown, the colors of the forest, he carried a bow, and two knives. A warrior, then, although his expression now- stunned, tears in his eyes, but with a tentative smile on his face- suggested he was pleased to see her, and clearly he knew who she was.

She had no recollection of ever seeing him before.

“Arwen? It _is_ you, isn't it? Everyone said you were dead! I cannot believe... You look so different, too thin, so pale, and your hair...” He reached out, gesturing towards the silver-white streaks that now marred the black of her midnight tresses. She almost stumbled in her haste to get out of his reach. He blinked, but did not seem deterred from speaking to her. “Are you recovering from some injury?” The ellon took a step closer, and she automatically moved backwards again, keeping out of reach. Huan, showing solidarity with her, stayed close, letting out the faintest rumble of a growl in warning, his eyes locked on the ellon. He stopped, a puzzled frown replacing his cautious smile. “What's wrong?”

Willing herself not to start trembling again, she could not meet the ellon's gaze, and only just managed a shake of her head, swallowing hard before managing to speak, her voice a mere whisper. “I don't... I am sorry. I don't know who you are.”

He looked stunned for an instant, then laughed, a shade too loudly, as if he thought she were jesting, making her start, and take another step away.

“Very funny! I suppose your brothers put you up to this? You have not seen me for some years so now you pretend to have forgotten my existence? But if you insist on keeping this up, very well.” He mimed a deep bow. “Well met, my lady. I am Legolas Thranduilion, once known as your good friend.”

She could only blink- the name meant nothing to her. The ellon- Legolas- shook his head, blond tresses flying, moving closer once again. “But, truly, where have you been all these years, mellon nin?”

Huan, perhaps feeling her quivering with growing fear, pressed closer to her and moved so that his form blocked Legolas' path to her. He let out another low rumble from deep in his chest, a more obvious warning to the ellon, but it went unheeded, or unnoticed. Legolas' head tilted to one side, as if puzzled or curious. “I have seen Luthien, your ancestress, several times, did you know?”

Arwen flinched at the mention of her name, but Legolas, again, was oblivious. “If you still looked like you used to, when you were well, you could have been her twin, did you know? It would have been nearly impossible to tell you apart!”

Her fists clenched, the veins bulging, sudden anger overcoming her fear. Whether she had once known this ellon or not, she was _not_ listening to this. Not again. Not ever. “Do _not_ say that to me. Never. Do you understand?” Her voice came out bitter enough to have soured milk, harsher than she had intended, but it made her feel oddly satisfied, almost powerful, to see the ellon almost cringe away from her.

“Arwen-”

“Do you understand? Don't _ever_ say that in front of me again, or I will make sure you regret it.” She continued skewering him with her gaze, having no idea where she was getting the courage to speak to someone like this from, nor why she was suddenly so searingly angry, with a foul taste in her mouth. All she knew was it was important that Legolas- and everyone- knew _not_ to compare her to Luthien again. She would not let them. The anger felt like boiling water coursing through her, building and building, almost physically painful, and lashing out at the ellon eased some of it, for some reason.

She had no idea what her expression looked like right now, but Legolas was backing away, which gave her an almost palpable sense of relief, and some of the tension in her body ebbed, her fear draining now that he was no longer close enough to touch her. The anger, however, still felt like a geyser on the verge of exploding. If Legolas reached out to her again, she knew she would strike him, and some part of her would enjoy it, even though he likely meant no harm. That in itself frightened her- why did she not understand her own emotions?

Huan huffed, nuzzling at her, his eyes wide and beseeching, as if willing her to calm down. He nosed at her hands, and only then did she realize she had driven her nails into her palms with such force that she had drawn blood. Bemused, she stared. Why did it not hurt?

A bone-deep chill abruptly replaced the boiling anger, as if someone had thrown icy water over her, and her heart stood still. What had she done?! She had just _threatened_ Legolas, given him plenty of reasons to be angry, former friend or not, and she stood here, alone with him, all but defenceless.

Tremors racked her body, making it hard for her to remain upright. Her vision blurred, and her teeth began to chatter. _Why did you do that? Why did you provoke him? It only brings more hurt if you cause trouble, you know that!_ Images of what had happened the few times she had managed to enrage Morgoth in truth, when he had not mocked her defiance, when whips and branding irons had appeared, and the many times Thuringwethil had taken her ill tempers out on her, spun through her mind. She began to hyperventilate, struggling to focus on the warmth of Huan next to her, the grass at her feet, the trees nearby, and the weak winter sun overhead, but it did little good.

She could see Legolas' lips moving, his expression unreadable to her, but could make no sense of his words, the pounding of her heartbeat in her ears drowning out all other sound. His hands caught her shoulders, restraining her, his fingers gripping her upper arms feeling like spiked iron gauntlets digging in, tearing her flesh, as Morgoth always did when he intended to force her to lie upon the ground, so he could take his pleasure. The all-too-familiar sensation made her want to scream, but she could not draw in enough air to do so. She struggled, but could not break free- Legolas held her fast. For a second, his eyes, focused on her, glowed the chilling amber she had seen too many times, the color of frozen fire. Morgoth's eyes. Huan's weight, that she had been all but leaning on, disappeared, and other shadowy figures encroached on her vision, seeming to burst from several directions, as hordes of Orcs often had, springing from hidden passages in the fortress and jeering at her as she was punished, and the memories overwhelmed her, making her lose all sense of where she truly was.

Seeing only the black stone walls of the fortress, and her two tormentors towering over her, first one, then the other, she sank to the ground, curling up as tightly as she could, praying that it would be brutal enough that she could escape into unconsciousness soon.

That was the only respite she ever received, and so she was relieved when everything went black. Her mind must have played some trick on her, though, because, as everything faded, she could have sworn she heard someone weeping, and a dog barking somewhere.

Then there was nothing.


	34. Chapter 34

Nienor sighed heavily, unsure of what to do. It had been some time since the fiasco with Luthien, and still Arwen had yet to return. She felt torn between remaining in this tent, in case Arwen came back, or going out to look for her. No-one had explicitly said she _had_ to stay here, after all... no sooner had she thought that and gotten to her feet, than the tent flap opened and the Lady Galadriel ducked her head to step inside.

Out of habit, Nienor dropped a curtsy in greeting, as she always had, so long ago, back in Doriath. Galadriel had rarely spoken to her back then, and if she was honest, the tall, majestic elleth intimidated her not a little. She was still amazed at herself, that, earlier, she had found the courage to stand up to her with regard to keeping Arwen with her. Realizing she should probably explain Arwen's absence now, Nienor swallowed before speaking. “If it was Arwen you wished to see,” and why else would she have come here, Arwen was her own granddaughter, Nienor was nothing to Galadriel, surely, “She... went to take a look around, I believe.” A lie, but she was not going to pass on what had happened with Luthien, not least because there was no clear way to do so without giving away the cause of Arwen's problems.

Galadriel regarded her coolly for a moment, before gesturing to the tent flap, and the camp outside. “I would speak with you also. Walk with me.”

It clearly had not been a request, and thus Nienor did not feel she could refuse. Trying to appear confident, she fell into step with the Lady, but waited for her to speak first.

“I imagine it is difficult for you. You and your brother both, to be back in this world, after the... hardships you have both endured.” Galadriel's voice was surprisingly gentle.

Nienor clenched her fists. She did not want to speak of this! She had assumed that Galadriel would wish to know more of Arwen. Being asked questions about herself caught her off guard. Staring straight ahead, clenching her teeth until the memories of her former life vanished from her mind, she eventually responded in a flat, even voice. “I am fine, my lady.”

“Mm-hmm.” Galadriel did not sound fooled in the least. “Well, for my part, and those of my kin, I can say we do not judge you or hold you- or Turin- to blame for the machinations of the Enemy and his servants.”

The voice of the dragon Glaurung, that had once bespelled her into forgetting her identity, leading to her accidentally marrying Turin, a voice that Nienor thought she had long forgotten, echoed in her mind and she shuddered. Almost against her will, her hands pressed to her belly, recalling the ill-gotten life that had once grown there, that should never have been begotten.

To her relief, Galadriel said nothing of her actions, strange though they may have appeared. “And, as Mithrandir said, we _are_ grateful that the two of you gave Arwen shelter when you found her. I apologize, for earlier. I doubt that sentiment was clear, but we were in such shock.” A delicate eyebrow arched. "I admit to feeling curious. How did you come to find her?"

Nienor managed a weak smile. “It was more that she found us, or, well, me rather, my lady. And we would never have denied aid to one who needed it. When we met, Arwen was-” She cut herself off. Galadriel might not wish to hear of the condition Arwen had been in during their first encounter. “Well, she has come a long way already, although to you, I imagine she appears very different to how she once was.” Speaking of Arwen like this felt somewhat disloyal, but anything was better than being forced to dredge up her own past.

“Indeed. She is much changed by what she has endured. I hope, in time, she regains enough of her memory, and trust in us to reveal it. But that will take time.” Galadriel halted, turning to face Nienor, who stopped, puzzled. “To that end, I have already had word spread of her return, but that she is _not_ to be importuned, or approached by any, unless she instigates such a thing.”

Which, Nienor knew, Arwen never would. She barely recalled her own family, let alone anyone else she might once have known.

Galadriel let out a sigh before continuing. “I have also made the same decree with regards to you and your brother. You will not be pestered unless you wish for company. I fear people will still talk, about the two of you, and about Arwen, but... I have done all I can to ensure you are let alone.”

Nienor's heart swelled with gratitude that Galadriel seemed to understand how much Nienor still wanted, no, needed, to keep the past buried. Her eyes stung with tears, but she could find no words that seemed appropriate. “I... thank you.”

It was not nearly enough, but Galadriel's cool hand slid around hers, and Nienor got the distinct sense that she did understand, and, for just a moment, let herself indulge in someone being there who wished to comfort her, despite all the failings and mistakes she had once made.

Someone outside the family who cared, and did not judge her for her sins.

* * *

Turin was attempting to smile politely, pretending to listen to Thranduil, wishing with all his thoughts that the ellon would leave, or that he could think up a plausible excuse and do the same- he had not felt at all happy at having to leave Arwen alone, but it had been that or expose her to Thranduil, and that surely would have been worse.

The loud barking of a dog interrupted whatever Thranduil had been saying, and they both turned in the direction of the sound. A male voice, unfamiliar to Turin, could be heard also, faintly, calling for help. Thranduil evidently recognized the voice, for he blanched, seeming to forget Turin entirely, and racing towards the source of the noise. Uninvited, but concerned, Turin followed, expecting Orcs or Wargs or some other fell thing.

He almost ran into Thranduil, who had stopped dead, staring at the scene before him. Stepping around him, Turin assessed the situation: No obvious threats, a blond ellon who resembled Thranduil, albeit considerably younger, who did not appear injured, Huan pressed close to the ground, whining and nosing at an unmoving figure- _Arwen_.

Turin's heart lurched and he had crossed the ground between them in seconds, dropping to his knees beside her. She lay insensate, her eyes half-closed, her skin clammy. Her breathing was too slow and shallow, but she merely seemed to be absent, he supposed was the best word, not hurt. He had seen her this way far too many times, in the first year of her dwelling with him and Nienor- something had frightened her badly enough to withdraw into herself. Immediately, Turin was on his feet, shoving at the ellon who still stood far too close, a worried look on his idiotic face, moving so he stood between him and Arwen. “What did you do to her?!”

“N-nothing. I.... she's an old friend, we were just talking, or I was. She got angry, I don't know why, then she seemed frightened. She was shaking as if in a fit, I tried to hold her still-”

“You grabbed hold of her? Without her permission?” Turin's glare could have burned a hole through rock, though he knew, on some level, that this _boy_ could not have known the effect that would have had on Arwen.

“Why should I not have? I was trying to help! And just who are you anyway?” The ellon was staring at him, but a few minutes of holding Turin's fierce gaze had him faltering.

“This, Legolas, is Turin son of Hurin of the First Age, but lately reborn.” Thranduil's voice made Turin start, as he had nearly forgotten that he was there at all.

Thranduil strode to the side of the now-gaping ellon, resting a hand on his shoulder, turning his eyes to Turin. “And this, Turin, is my own son, Legolas.”

Turin hid his astonishment at Thranduil now being a father, bit back a snide remark about the amazing odds of someone loving Thranduil and his haughty attitude enough to marry him, noticed a longbow and quiver on Legolas' back, and closed his eyes for a moment, reminded of another pale-haired Wood-Elf who had favored the bow as his primary weapon, lost so long ago, at Turin's own hand. _Beleg..._ He crushed the memory. That was long ago. This was not he.

Thranduil evidently gave on up getting a response to his son's introduction, and dropped his gaze to Arwen's unmoving figure. “Although I am not certain who-” His jaw dropped. “Is this Arwen Elrondiel?!” He stooped over her, staring in disbelief. “But... she died.... decades ago. How...”

Again Turin moved, this time to block Thranduil from reaching Arwen. His shadow fell over her, and for a second, her eyes flickered, a sign that she was still aware and would 'awaken' once she felt safe. Utterly ignoring the stares from Thranduil and Legolas, he knelt, whispering softly to Arwen in reassurance, as he often had in the past when she had suffered a nightmare, or a similar spell to this. Moving infinitely slowly, he slid one arm beneath her knees, the other supporting her back as he lifted her, continually speaking softly, telling what he would do before he did it, he lifted her securely into his arms, shaking his head at how little she still weighed.

Thranduil, apparently, was still catching up. “Wait- you know Arwen, Turin? But how could you?” His eyes narrowed. “She does not look like herself. I'd hope you have nothing to do with that? Innocent people do seem to suffer a great deal when they are around you.”

If he had not been holding Arwen, Turin would happily have struck him for that remark, true or not, although he was slightly surprised when young Legolas let out a horrified cry of "Adar!" Perhaps he was not the smaller, slighter version of Thranduil that his looks suggested him to be.

Turin settled for glowering at Thranduil. “She does not look like herself at present because _your son_ did something that put her in this state, Thranduil. As for how I know her, my sister and I have protected and cared for her since she escaped from captivity. At the hands of the vampire Thuringwethil.” He added in Arwen's lie at the last minute, due to a sudden feeling that Thranduil and his son would likely spread this story around, and wanting to have _some_ control over speculation about where Arwen had been for so long. “She is still traumatized, and will need time to recover.”

Before another word could be said, light footsteps raced towards them, and an elleth around Legolas' age, with unusual auburn-red hair, clad in a green robe, halted and bowed before Thranduil and Legolas. “My lords. I am instructed to bring word from Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel. It seems that the missing Lady Arwen has returned, accompanied by the children of Hurin from the First Age.” Her tone made her skepticism of that part, at least, obvious. “The Lady Galadriel's words were that none are to seek them out unbidden, until they can settle... in...” Only then did the elleth seem to notice Turin and the still-unresponsive Arwen, and she faltered, falling back a step, her eyes wide. “I-”

“Thank you, Tauriel, that will be all.” Thranduil's tone was curt now, and the elleth bowed once more, slipping away, albeit with several amazed glances back at Turin.

Legolas, inclining his head to his father, simply followed her, after casting an apologetic look at Turin- apologizing for bothering him, or Arwen, perhaps? He hesitated before leaving, meeting Turin's gaze. “When she... wakes,” he clearly did not know the right words, “Would you tell her I am sorry? I meant no harm, and... I would still like to see her. When she is ready.”

Turin bit back his automatic harsh response and merely nodded. A small smile crossed Legolas' face, and he was gone. Thranduil still stood there, arms crossed, looking as if he were about to begin some kind of lecture. Rolling his eyes, Turin adjusted his hold on Arwen, supporting her more strongly and simply strode away, meaning to take Arwen back to her tent, once he learned where it was, and remain with her until she roused from her stupor. As long as Thranduil did not follow...

There was a soft snarl, and an annoyed cry from Thranduil, before the thud of paws sounded behind Turin, and seconds later, Huan fell into step with him. Well, that solved one problem, at least- he assumed Huan had snapped at Thranduil to dissuade him from accompanying them. And while the dog was here... “You couldn't show me the way back to Arwen and Nienor's tent, could you?”

The hound wagged his tail, then trotted off, staying just in front of Turin, which he took as assent, and let Huan guide him back through the sprawling sea of tents, keeping a fierce enough look upon his face to hopefully forestall any awkward questions. Soon enough, he had slipped into the tent, realized Nienor was not there, and lain Arwen gently down, sitting beside her to wait, and think on what he had heard.

If Galadriel truly had commanded that none of them be bothered unless they wished to be, then perhaps, once Arwen had been awakened and calmed, and Nienor returned from wherever she was, they could talk, as they had not had a chance to do in their rush to abandon the cottage and journey here. Perhaps they could, in a sense, re-start their time here, and make a better impression than they had so far. Maybe, this time, his trying to join himself to an enclave would not end in utter disaster...

Stranger things had happened of late, after all. And Nienor was likely already attempting to establish friendships here, for where else could she be right now? Why should he not try the same, if he wished? He already knew Galadriel and Celeborn, and he had met the twins, Arwen's brothers... he should at least try and get along with them, and any other kin she had here, for her sake, and also for Nienor's- isolation might have suited him (and Arwen) well enough until now, but perhaps Nienor, at least, needed more company. (Maybe, later, he might even apologize to Thranduil and his son. Maybe.) Although he was usually too proud to admit this, having friends _did_ make life in these dark times easier to bear.

This was not the same world he had left. Why hold on to the fear that the same pattern would repeat itself? Times had changed, and, in a lot of ways... so had he.


	35. Chapter 35

Luthien strode to the very edge of the encampment, Beren following in silence, going as far as was necessary, that their words would not be overheard. Her mind was reeling with horror, struggling to find a way to rationalize or deny what she had glimpsed, fleetingly, in young Arwen's mind.

Morgoth's cruel face, the icy fire of his eyes. It had been as clear as day, as if the Enemy himself loomed over them. Even thinking of that now made Luthien shudder with fear, and it had been many lifetimes since she had her own encounter with the Fallen Vala.

How could Arwen know exactly what he looked like? As far as the tale that her brothers had told went, Thuringwethil had been the child's captor, which would have been bad enough, but that did not explain the precise clarity of Morgoth's visage in Arwen's memory, the nigh-tangible air of menace and terror that he exuded simply by being present. That could not be falsified. Somehow, somewhere, Arwen had faced him directly. Luthien winced at the very thought. _No_ Elf deserved that fate, and to know it had happened to one of her own distant kin, to see how shattered Arwen was, and the blazing anger that had roiled in her mind upon recognizing Luthien, refusing to even look in her direction, let alone speak to her... what lies had been spun to the poor child, to make her feel such rage towards her?

“Luthien?” Beren's low voice, and his hand upon her shoulder, helped her to order her thoughts. She rested her hand atop his, but remained facing away from him, gazing at the densely clouded sky and bleak winter landscape, drawing comfort from his presence as she tried to find the words she needed in order to start asking questions, and hopefully find some answers.

Beren did not press her, knowing that she would speak when she wished. Finally, she drew in a deep breath. “Galadriel and Celeborn claim that Arwen was held captive by Thuringwethil before managing to escape.”

“That is the story that Elladan and Elrohir gave, presumably from Arwen herself, and Turin and Nienor have not contradicted it.” Beren spoke quietly, not as if he were trying to convince her, simply stating facts.

She swallowed hard. “But, when I followed Huan, and he had gone looking for her, I slipped into the tent given to Arwen and Nienor, and the child's appearance.." She cringed at the recollection. "She is unnaturally thin, covered with scars like an aged warrior, her hair streaked with silver-white, with no color to her skin, and her reaction to seeing me...” A shiver wracked her slender form, and Beren slid an arm around her shoulders. “I have rarely sensed anything like it. Fear and hatred thick enough to choke on, and yet she did not even glance in my direction.” She stopped there, not yet wanting to mention seeing Morgoth's loathsome face imprinted deeply into Arwen's thoughts.

Beren sighed, and she could picture the thoughtful frown he wore. “Might it not simply be that Thuringwethil convinced her to believe the worst of you, as she tormented the poor girl? And we do not know exactly how long the vampire had her. Years of suffering that kind of thing would do considerable damage to a mind as well as a body.”

“Yes, but, also-” Here Luthien fell silent, her gaze shooting up to the treetops not far from them. Her eyes narrowed, and when she spoke again, it was in a louder voice. “But also I will not speculate on such things when certain others are attempting to eavesdrop.” She folded her arms. “Elladan, Elrohir, come down here. Now.”

She felt Beren move as he followed her gaze, and he shook his head when a sullen looking pair of twins dropped to the ground before them in near silence.

“I don't believe you two were invited to be a part of this conversation.” Beren's tone was mild, but his meaning painfully obvious: What were they doing here?

Elladan scowled. “Surely we have the right to know if you are discussing something relating to our sister?” His tone was defiant, but his shoulders were slumped, and he kept his head lowered, not even able to make eye contact with either of them.

Luthien sighed, not exactly unsympathetic with the two young ellyn, but they did not need to hear the darker parts of this, particularly not considering, if what she had glimpsed in Arwen's thoughts was true, that their sister had, for whatever reason, kept the truth from them. “If we knew aught for certain, then perhaps you would. However, as we are only discussing possibilities between ourselves, then this is, at present, no concern of yours.” She gestured subtly back towards the camp with her head, making it clear that she expected them to leave. “If we confirm anything that we believe the two of you need to know, you will be told.”

Grumbling to themselves, the twins stalked away. Luthien watched to make sure they did in fact leave before returning her attention to her husband, who was now watching her worriedly.

“There is something else, isn't there? You would not have dismissed Arwen's brothers if it was simply Thuringwethil's mind games you wished to discuss.”

Luthien bowed her head. “You know that, at times, I receive images from the minds of others? Strong memories, images associated with powerful emotions, even if I do not wish it?”

“Yes...”

Another tremor ran through her. “The clearest image in Arwen's mind was of Morgoth's very face.” She almost _saw_ Beren tense, his face hardening, even as it paled.

“Valar, I hope not- Surely you are mistaken, love? What could he possibly have wanted with her? She is barely into adulthood by Elven standards, is she not? She was not even _thought_ of until long after his exile, in the time before. He had no reason to even know that she existed!”

“I do not know.” Recalling her own escapade into Angband, so long ago, a sickening, dark possibility crossed her mind, why Morgoth might have wanted this child who had once so resembled her, if Celeborn's description of Arwen when she had been hale and strong was to be believed, but she refused to let the thought take root in her mind- it would be too unbearable to accept. “I almost fear to-” Luthien broke off again as a deep shadow, undetected somehow until now, sprang into her mind. Through her marriage-bond to Beren, she saw him pick up on the same thing, half stepping in front of her as they both whirled, eyes searching for the threat.

A dark shape seemed to glide towards them, appearing from the shadow cast by one of the larger tents. It soon resolved into a recognizable shape, that of a winged woman, black robed and white as death, and instantly Beren had a blade drawn and aimed at her.

“Thuringwethil.” Luthien let the creature's name fall from her lips with scorn. “It would be you skulking around spying, cowering for fear of discovery.” In truth, she felt little fear- she had bested this creature once before, alone, and now they stood within calling distance of a small army.

The vampire let out a hiss, but did not seem as dismayed to see an old enemy as Luthien might have expected. “So it is true. You have returned to this world.”

Luthien arched a brow. “Oh. So your master heard rumor of us, and sent you to spy, then, to learn the truth of the matter?”

Beren let out a laugh. “I do not think much of a spy who is discovered so easily.”

Thuringwethil, to their surprise, shrieked a high-pitched laugh. “And I do not think highly of any who allow the young ones of their family to fall into peril.” She withdrew her great wings, drawing them close about herself, revealing in their wake the twins- Elrohir unconscious with an obvious bite wound to his neck, Elladan clutched close to her body, one of her iron claws at his throat.

Beren and Luthien both froze. Elrohir, who had been bitten, and presumably fed upon, still breathed, but did not otherwise move. Elladan, despite being Thuringwethil's captive, however, seemed, if not calm, then focused, his silver eyes locked on them steadily.

Luthien squared her shoulders- if she could get Thuringwethil talking, and distract her, perhaps they could gain some advantage- or at least draw attention from the Elven warriors who constantly patrolled nearby. _If she has not already slain them all_. Pushing the chilling thought away- she had sensed no elven spirits departing to Mandos- she stepped around Beren, stepping closer to the vampire, pretending to not notice his reaching to stop her. “You felt it necessary to take two hostages before even daring to reveal yourself? I thought even you would have more courage than that.”

Thuringwethil's answering sneer revealed more than Luthien wished to see of her bloodstained fangs. “I lost to you once before, _witch._ You'll forgive me if I choose to take precautions before facing you once again.”

Elrohir, who had been 'unconscious', opened his eyes the tiniest fraction, gaze fixed on Luthien. Feigning unconsciousness, perhaps, to try and gain an advantage over Thuringwethil? Foolish, but at least Elrohir was not too badly injured. Luthien did not openly react to this, and she had no idea if Beren had even noticed, but twitched her hand, just slightly, signalling to the young ellon to wait. His head drooped forward a fraction, an acknowledgement, or so she would assume.

“And why did you reveal yourself?” Luthien challenged Thuringwethil once again, keeping the vampire's focus on her. “If you were only sent here to spy, why show yourself at all? Your presence might have gone unnoticed if you had kept your distance.”

Thuringwethil laughed at that, craning her neck to look down at Elladan, whom she was still restraining. “You would probably have preferred that, wouldn't you, Elrondion? You finally got your precious sister back, after she did so well, feigning her death and staying hidden for so long before returning here, and here I come to reclaim her once again.”

“You will _never_ ,” Elladan's words were little more than a rasp, as he did not dare to risk her iron claw actually slicing into his throat. “Torment her again.”

Thuringwethil flung back her head and laughed, almost hysterically, barely seeming to even notice when Beren flung a dagger, grazing her wing, which Luthien only now noticed was covered in a thick raised scar, matched on the other side by a similar poorly healed wound. Her slight flinch at the sting she had surely felt, though, was enough to allow Elladan to drop to his knees, roll forward, catch Elrohir by the arm as the latter scrambled to his own feet, one hand pressed to the puncture wounds on his neck to stem the bleeding, and both twins darted back, well out of Thuringwethil's reach.

Elladan readied his bow, notched and loosed an arrow, and seconds later, it sang across the sky, embedding itself in the vampire's shoulder, and her laughter became a shriek of pain. Footsteps sounded some distance away, but drawing closer, running towards them, and Thuringwethil must have realized she would soon be surrounded, for she took to the sky, glowering down at the four of them.

“You blame _me_ for what happened to your sister, my master's precious 'little bird'?!” Thuringwethil almost spat the words down to the twins, even as she flew further away. “All I did was discipline her when she would not obey his wishes! If she had simply obeyed, it would have been easier on her. The blasted nuisance should have been _grateful_ that he honored her so, to use her and only her as a lover for so long!” Her acidic gaze returned to Luthien, a clawed wing pointing in her direction. “If you would blame anyone for what Lord Morgoth did to the elleth, blame _her_ for inciting his lust to begin with!”

There were cries of rage, horror and disbelief from the twins, and a wrathful shout from Beren, as Thuringwethil fled, disappearing into the grey sky, dodging the numerous arrows that followed. Beren's face was ashen, tinged green, as if he felt nauseous as the meaning of Thuringwethil's words sank in.

And Luthien staggered away from them all, unable to even look at the twins, tears stinging her eyes, ignoring Beren's reaching for her, no doubt to offer comfort that she was not ready to hear, the crushing weight of Thuringwethil's last taunt almost enough to bring her to her knees. The fear she had refused to acknowledge, the absolute worst possibility, was the truth. Her stomach churned with nausea at the mental images now conjured by her mind, and she felt leaden with guilt. Morgoth had... _used_ Arwen, an innocent child who had done _nothing_ , for his own pleasure, tormenting her. For years. Because she resembled Luthien. Because Luthien had made him want her, used his foul lusts to enchant and overpower him, so many eons ago.

Little wonder Arwen could not bear to be anywhere near her! Everything that her young descendant had endured, all that she had suffered... had been because of something that Luthien herself had done.


	36. Chapter 36

Nienor slipped back into her tent, feeling curiously lighter in spirit after her encounter with Galadriel, even though little enough had been said. This vanished in an instant, however, when she beheld Turin and Huan inside, sitting beside Arwen who lay unmoving. Nienor instantly recognized the state her heart-sister was in, the scarcely-conscious place she withdrew into when something had frightened her too much to cope with. Kneeling at Arwen's side, she stroked her brow, an unspoken comfort, letting Arwen know she was not alone, before looking at her brother. “What happened?”

Sighing, Turin explained his two encounters with Thranduil, whom Nienor vaguely recalled- he had been one of the nobles of Doriath, though he had had little to do with her- and his son, who it seemed had once known Arwen, and whose actions had unwittingly put her in this state. Nienor grimaced. Turin sounded angry, understandably, but in truth, neither Thranduil or his son Legolas could be blamed- they had no way of knowing how fragile Arwen was. She was attempting to find the words to explain this to Turin without sending him into a deeper rage, when he spoke, surprising her.

“I suppose we should accept that this kind of thing will happen, if Arwen is recognized again.” Turin let out a deep sigh. “It is not within our power to prevent old friends and allies from wishing to see her. All we can do is try and calm her afterwards. It wasn't young Legolas' fault.”

Nienor stared at him, her eyes wide.

“What?”

“Are you ill? Do you have a fever of some kind? Or some manner of head injury?”

Turin frowned. “No, why?”

“Well, you certainly are not acting like yourself!”

He narrowed his eyes. “Very funny.” Shaking his head, he returned his gaze to Arwen, his tone pensive. “But, really, there's no use in holding a grudge about something that could just as easily have been caused by one of Arwen's brothers, or any other family member, is there? She has problems, and will need to learn to overcome them somehow. This camp isn't going to be like our old home. She- and we- _will_ have to get used to having large numbers of others in our lives, and learn to accommodate them as much as they will do the same for us.”

Nienor folded her arms. “Something is clearly amiss here. Who are you and what have you done with Turin?”

He glared at her, then seemed to see the humor in it, and laughed. “Alright, fine, I deserve that. I have not been the most generous towards others since our return. I admit I have been slightly tempted to push others away.”

" _Slightly_?” It was Nienor's turn to laugh. “I do admire your gift for understatement.”

Echoing her laughter, he swatted at her, playfully, grinning as she ducked. A warm feeling blossomed in Nienor- _this_ was how siblings should behave, bickering, laughing together. It was something she and Turin had never shared before, and it felt strange for its newness, but pleasant nonetheless.

From the thoughtful look on his face, Turin was thinking much the same, his eyes softer than she had ever seen before. When he spoke, his voice and mind were clearly far away. “Father and Mother, I think, would be proud of us now, if not for anything before.”

Nienor dropped her eyes. “Mother would, though she would never admit it.” She felt certain in that, at least. Morwen had been stern, and reserved, rarely speaking of her feelings. Much like Turin, she reflected thoughtfully. She could not speak for their father Hurin, since she had never met him. “Father...” She took a deep breath. “Mother would never speak of him, so I know little about him. Would you...” She had never liked to ask before, feeling that Turin's memories of the brief time he had known Hurin were his alone, and private. “Would you tell me what you remember of him?”

Turin hesitated, his eyes glistening with unshed tears that were quickly blinked away, before shifting slightly, making room for Nienor to sit comfortably on the ground beside him- not an easy task with the massive bulk of Huan sprawled nearby, but she managed. Arwen still lay unmoving, but from previous experiences such as this, Nienor knew that she could hear them, and just the sound of their voices, calm and even, would be reassuring to her.

Slowly at first, as if the words stuck in his throat, Turin began speaking of the earliest years of his life, when both their parents had been there, and, for the briefest time, so too had been Urwen, or Lalaith, their other sister, who had died of the Evil Breath, a plague sent by the Enemy, when she was just three years old. Nienor's eyes stung with tears as her older brother reminisced. She could see, in the tapestry his words wove, how life could have been, how she would have fitted in, if everything had not gone wrong, if Lalaith had not died, if their father had not been taken captive, if Turin had not been sent away to Doriath before her birth, if, if, if... Turin went on to tell her of his fosterage in Doriath, then some small parts of the other events of his first life, prior to Brethil and the disaster that had ended up being.

In return, she told him of her life, raised alone with Morwen, their mother, attempting to make it sound better than it had been, trying to cast a more favorable light over a lonely existence, with no friends and few allies, as Easterlings had claimed most of Hurin's lands shortly before her birth. Her time in Doriath had been happier, and was thus easier to recall, but she faltered when she reached the part of her tale concerning how she and Morwen had left that blessed place, because that led to her encounter with the Dragon, and her loss of memory and all that had followed, and she did not wish to stir up those memories. Not yet at least.

When she ceased speaking, Turin rested a hand on hers, as if he knew her thoughts, his grey eyes kind, if haunted, as her own no doubt were. They sat in silence for a while, both lost in thought.

“It feels as if we have only just met for the first time, that I know you better for hearing about your life,” Nienor ventured at last.

Turin inclined his head. “And I you. If only we could truly start over, erase what happened before...”

They could not, of course, but still... having shared their stories with one another, it did feel as if something had changed. Nienor felt less uneasy in Turin's presence than she had since they had returned. Why had they never spoken like this before, again? “Thank you for telling me more of our family... brother.” That was another first. Until now, they had only called each other by their names, as if addressing each other as siblings was somehow wrong, as if their past actions made them undeserving of those titles.

“You are welcome... my sister.” He shook his head, looking almost incredulous. “I know not why it took us this long to actually speak of such things.”

“Neither do I.” Another silence fell, but it lacked the uncomfortable weight that had oft lain between them before. It felt... safe.

Arwen, who still laid on the ground, stirred slightly, her eyes fluttering. Moving as one, well used to tending to her when she came around from her withdrawn state, Turin and Nienor moved so they would be in view when she awoke, and she would not be afraid while she tried to recall where she was, and what had happened.

Turin offered Nienor a tentative smile, the gentle smile he usally offered only to Arwen, as if unsure it would be welcomed. She returned the expression, still unsure with how new this felt, him _acting_ like her older brother, not someone who did not feel welcome or comfortable around her, with her feeling the same towards him. It was odd, but not unpleasant.

She put those thought aside as Arwen stirred, returning to full wakefulness. She and Turin could continue talking later, once they had ensured Arwen was well. Surely, now they had finally spoken openly to one another, things could only improve?


	37. Chapter 37

Through the fog in her mind, Arwen could make out voices speaking softly, heard as if a thick pane of glass stood between her and whoever was speaking. A heavy weight as if of exhaustion lay upon her, denying her the strength to so much as open her eyes, but, gradually, she recognized the voices as those of Turin and Nienor. Although she could not recall where she was, or how she might have gotten there, the presence of the only two people she knew she could trust helped her to stay calm. Slowly, feeling returned to her, starting with her fingers and toes, then spreading to her wrists and feet, and eventually she managed to pry open her eyes, seeing a thick ceiling of fabric above her. She lay in the tent that had been given to her and Nienor, though how she had come to be here still eluded her.

Turin and Nienor sat close to her, still deep in their conversation. A heavier weight, pressed against her feet, made her struggle to lift her head, to determine what it might be. It turned out to be merely Huan, lying at her feet, asleep. But her slight movement had caught Turin's attention, and his gaze darted to her, as did Nienor's.

“Arwen.” Turin's simple acknowledgement was familiar, soothing, further helping her to rouse herself. Arms aching at the strain, she managed to sit up.

“What happened?” Her voice was hoarse, her mouth parched. She cast her mind back, trying to remember. She had been speaking to Turin, in his tent, then she had begun walking back to the isolated area where this tent stood, with Huan at her side, and... what?

Nienor silently offered her a water-skin, helping her to drink, and setting it down again, before Turin replied. “Just an... unfortunate encounter with someone who did not know of your dislike of being touched.”

Memories surfaced in Arwen's mind at his words- the blond ellon, seizing her by the shoulders, after she had become angry, incensed beyond reason at his comparing her to Luthien, then recoiling in fear once she realized she had lashed out at someone... She repressed a shudder, staring now at the ground. “Am I to be punished, then, for my anger?” She knew that Turin and Nienor would not seek retribution for such a thing, but here, among other Elves... who knew how the rules worked here?

“No.” Turin's voice was firm. “The Elf should have shown more respect, and kept his distance from you.”

“But... he only caught hold of me _after_ I became angry.”

Nienor tilted her head. “And why were you angry? It is not like you to let your temper rule you.”

“I...” Arwen shook her head. “I do not know, really. He- the ellon- claimed to know me, and said I would look just like Luthien if I were well... That is what Morg- _he_ always said of me, and I did not want to hear it again.” Shame at how she had acted towards one who had meant no harm in his words flooded her. Had she become no better than Thuringwethil, venting her ill tempers on whoever had the misfortune of being close by? Slumping forward, she pressed her face to her knees, hands rising to grip her hair, pulling on it, out of habit. The slight sting of pain she was causing herself was almost comforting.

There was silence for a moment, then a hand slid against hers, very gently urging it away from her hair. Reluctantly, she unclenched her fists and uncurled herself, sitting up. Usually, in these situations, it was Nienor who tried to talk her into calming herself, so she was surprised to see that it was Turin who had moved to stop her this time.

“Arwen... sometimes, when a person has been through something terrible, anything that brings it to their mind can cause anger.” Turin's tone was more contemplative than usual, less cold and clinical. “I have been through such things myself, in the past. You cannot be held responsible for a traumatic reaction, considering what caused it, even if the full reason must remain hidden. You will not be punished. I-” he glanced at Nienor, “ _We_ will not allow it.”

“Neither will your brothers or grandparents.” Nienor added, as if finishing Turin's sentence, something Arwen had rarely seen before. Come to think of it, when she had awoken, they had been deep in conversation. They had _never_ , to her knowledge, spoken to one another more than was necessary unless she was around and partaking in the conversation. Curiosity warred with her bleak mood, and she eyed each of them, trying to work out what had happened, what had changed, that they suddenly seemed more at ease with one another.

Huan's ears pricked, however, and he scrabbled into a sitting position, his great head swiveling towards the partially-open tent flap, as if listening to something, and his tail began to wag excitedly. Puzzled, and distracted from her previous train of thought, Arwen concentrated, trying to work out what he might have heard. It did not take long for the sound of harp music to reach her, a beautiful, heart-rending cascade of notes that she did not know, and yet was familiar, as if she had heard it before. The volume swelled, and within minutes, a deep, exquisite male voice began to accompany the music, fathomless and changeable as the Sea.

Now Turin and Nienor could also hear the singer, and they sat frozen, under the spell of his music. The song was sung in Sindarin, but it was one of Valinor, and spoke of those that ruled it. As the song continued, visions of the Valar wove themselves before Arwen's eyes, Beings of near-infinite might and majesty- and mercy, and kindness, and compassion for those who had suffered hurt by the Enemy's will or deeds, and forgiveness for those who had erred in their choices.

Huan was on his feet by now, and leaving the tent, tail still wagging nineteen to the dozen. Arwen found herself stumbling after him, tears coursing down her face, still transfixed by the beauty of the song. Turin and Nienor were just behind her, she could hear them, but all her focus was on the singer, who was seated not far away, hands still strumming his harp, a look of great grief on his face.

Huan had raced over, as if he would plow straight into the minstrel, but stopped short just in time, sitting before him, for all the world as if he intended to wait for the song to end before greeting the singer!

The final notes strummed, and the song crescendoed to a final verse, about how, in the end, even acts of Darkness and Evil would find themselves serving the purposes of Eru Iluvatar, even if all those who lived and suffered within Arda could not comprehend His reasoning.

Huan leaped forward and greeted the minstrel with an enthusiastic licking, before being fended off. Standing with Turin and Nienor on either side of her, Arwen was able to look at the singer as he glanced at them, not at all surprised to see that he had an audience.

“Maglor.” She remembered him now, from her childhood. The last son of Feanor, who had raised her Adar and his brother Elros in their childhood, and had been accepted into Adar's home not long before Arwen had been born. He had been present when they had first come to the camp, he had been the one to challenge her when she stood hooded and cloaked, but until now, she had not recalled who he was.

Maglor inclined his head in greeting. “Arwen.” His dark eyes surveyed her, then shifted to Turin and Nienor. “Lord Turin, Lady Nienor. I feel I must apologize for my lack of courtesy earlier, when you arrived. Living in such dark times... it is oft too easy for paranoia to seize one's mind.”

Neither of them responded, perhaps not knowing what to say. Arwen, feeling somewhat awkward, opted to break the silence. “Your song...” It had been beautiful, but strangely accurate, as if it had been aimed at them specifically, to raise their spirits, which was odd. Maglor did not know Turin and Nienor, and indeed, hardly knew her any longer, so why would he put himself out to try and assure them, if indeed that was what he had been doing?

Maglor's face reddened slightly. “I have.... heard rumors, gossip even, flying hither and fro about the camp, much of it including your names.” He was clearly addressing Turin and Nienor more than Arwen, so she bowed her head and stepped back, not wanting to be in the way. “I... do not always speak well, but find it easier to express my feelings through song. I wanted only to show you that I, for one, do not think you have aught to be ashamed of, for striving so valiantly against the Enemy in the past, no matter how it turned out.” His eyes darkened with painful memories. “I know well how it feels to learn that all you have done with the best intentions leads only to ill results.” He cleared his throat. “As I said, I am not skilled at speaking diplomatically, but what I mean is, if you ever wish for company that will not constantly be whispering behind your back... I offer friendship.” He then looked to Arwen. “And to you, I owe an apology. I did not intend to cause you any discomfort or fear when we first met once again. You have changed greatly, so I hope you'll forgive me for not knowing you at first.”

Arwen swallowed hard, then nodded. Maglor had been part of her family once, she was fairly certain, so she _should_ be able to trust him. Besides, Huan seemed thrilled to see him, and she did trust in the Hound's judgement. “There is nothing to forgive. I know I am not as I was.”

“None ever are, after surviving and escaping captivity, little bird.” Maglor's tone was sorrowful, and, thankfully, he was not looking at her, and so did not see her slight flinch at the use of that nickname. Involuntarily, her fists clenched. On the rare occasions Morgoth had not called her by Luthien's name, he had always referred to her as 'little bird'. _It does not mean the same here, it doesn't._ She chanted to herself, silently, forcing herself to appear calm, despite her heart beginning to pound. _It is just a name, it means nothing, and the Dark Lord does not have sole claim on it_.

Turin and Nienor, knowing her as well as they did, had noticed her reaction. Nienor's hand brushed against hers, and Turin stepped slightly away from her, giving her space, but edging forward, so as to be between her and Maglor. She struggled to breathe deeply, and to keep her darker memories buried where they belonged. Maglor was still speaking, and it took a moment for her to register what he was saying. “I'm sorry, my mind wandered, what did you say?”

“I said, your parents will be glad to learn of your return, when word can be sent to Cirdan at Lindon.”

Arwen tried to smile. “I imagine they will.” She tried to picture her parents, but although she remembered them, as one might recall a dream, their faces and voices were indistinct. “How long have they dwelled there?”

“Since not long after you wer- since Rivendell fell.” Maglor corrected rapidly, after Turin glared at him. “I imagine you will wish to write to them, at least?”

“Perhaps.” A letter _would_ be simpler, at first, Arwen mused. Letters could not reveal how befouled you now were, or betray any thoughts you wished to conceal.

“Alasse will be thrilled to learn that you still live, as well.” Maglor smiled.

Arwen blinked. “Alasse?” Damaged as her memory was, she did not recall anyone with that name, but Maglor's tone implied fondness, even love. “I don't...”

Maglor arched an eyebrow. “Your brothers have not yet told you of your younger sister?” He shook his head. “I know they have not seen her often, but to not even tell you...” An indulgent smile played on his lips. “I have only seen her once or twice, she must be around... five years old now. Still a little thing, but such a cheerful Elfling. She has your Naneth's silver hair, but the same eyes as you, your brothers and Elrond. She has always wanted to meet you someday, although we all thought it would be after your return from Mandos...”

Everything seemed to slow around Arwen, her heartbeat thudding in her ears. A sister? Another daughter for her parents, one they could love and cherish, one who wasn't scarred and ruined... Her eyes burned with tears. Why should her parents not have a daughter who was still innocent, if they wished? It was no less than they deserved, was it? “I'm sure my parents are very excited to still have a daughter they can love unconditionally.” The words came out bitter, caustic, but she didn't care. She had been _replaced_ by another child. Like as not, she had been utterly forgotten, or simply given up for dead. Well, let it be so, then! Arwen ignored Nienor's comforting squeeze of her hand, and the sympathetic look Turin was giving her. Maglor's suddenly regretful expression suggested he knew he should not have said anything as of yet, but Arwen did not care. Her parents had had another daughter, as if she no longer existed, but she did not care. She _was_ still here, and when they found out, they could accept, or reject her, as they would.

She did not care. At all. The tears brimming in her eyes that she kept blinking back were due to nothing but anger. It had nothing to do with sorrow. Her parents did not deserve that from her. Not now.

The tense moment was broken by Huan letting out a bark, alerting them that Elladan and Elrohir were approaching. Arwen struggled to smile, knowing they wished her to be happy, but as they drew closer, she saw that their faces were white as death, both trembling with some suppressed emotion. She backed up so she stood closer to Turin and Nienor, already half convinced that her brothers approached to accuse or blame her for something that had made them feel such horror, and wanting to stay close to those who always made her feel safe.

The twins reached them, and simply stared at her, apparently unable to form words, tears shining amid the pain, grief and horror in their grey eyes, hanging back as if they were afraid to touch her, as if she were fragile and might break. She hardly dared to breathe. What could have happened to make them feel this way?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments on this story are welcome and will be replied to!
> 
> As for the next chapter, there are two possibilities: Follow up where this chapter was left, or have another Interlude chapter in which we check in with Elrond and the others living with Cirdan at the Havens. I'm happy to hear suggestions. 😊


	38. Chapter 38

Elladan felt almost paralyzed with grief and guilt as he gazed at his sister, so changed from what he remembered- little wonder that was so, if the accursed vampire Thuringwethil had spoken the truth! To think of Arwen, his beloved sister, forced to become nothing but something for the Enemy to toy with and use for pleasure at his whim...

He and Elrohir had all but run over here, paying no heed to Beren's calling after them, not caring what Beren or Luthien chose to do now, after Thuringwethil had fled, both twins feeling an urge to see their sister at once- to apologize? To demand to know why she had lied to them? He did not think either of them knew why they had immediately sought her out, but the pain and grief causing turmoil in his mind, and in Elrohir's, sensed through the bond they shared, had a different effect, one they had not planned on.

For as they wallowed in anger, hurt and confusion, another familiar pair of minds brushed theirs, reacting to the pain they were feeling, wishing to offer comfort.

' _Elladan? Elrohir? What has happened?'_

_'Are you injured? Has some ill befallen you?'_

Both twins tensed, exchanging looks. _Adar and Naneth_. They must have projected their feelings strongly, for Elrond and Celebrian to have sensed them, while they were many leagues away at the Havens. Now what were they to do?! It showed just how shaken both twins were, though- since the birth of their other sister Alasse, both Elladan and Elrohir had made a point of shielding their minds from both their parents, seeing this new daughter as a betrayal, as a sign that Elrond and Celebrian had given up on ever finding Arwen.

' _Ionnath nin? What troubles you both to this degree? Please, answer us._ '

' _Please, my loves. We cannot help you if you don't_.' Even heard only in their minds, Elrond's voice sounded older, more weary, than they had ever heard before, while Celebrian's almost broke with the pain she was feeling, and a fresh guilt swamped them both.

Arwen, who still stood before them, looking puzzled, suddenly stifled a gasp, her eyes widening just a touch. _'A-Adar? Naneth?'_ Her 'voice' was barely audible, but Elladan had no doubt that their parents had heard her voice, just as he and Elrohir did.

The jarring wave of recognition, followed by shock and disbelief from Elrond and Celebrian that followed broke the tenuous link between them all, leaving the twins and Arwen blinking, while Maglor explained- quietly- to Turin and Nienor, that a long-distance discussion was taking place between the Peredhil family. He suggested that they leave, to give the siblings privacy, but Turin and Nienor hesitated, Elladan noticed, until Arwen nodded, as if saying yes, they could go. He fought the urge to scowl as Maglor escorted Turin and Nienor away, to where, he did not know, noting not for the first time that Arwen seemed to prefer and trust Turin and Nienor more than she did him and Elrohir, her own brothers!

Something struck him then, and it felt as if his blood turned to ice in his veins. Turin and Nienor had taken care of Arwen for some years after she had escaped captivity. Did they know what had truly happened to her at Morgoth's hands? If so, why had the two Mortals gone along with Arwen's lie-by-omission, when she had told himself and Elrohir that Thuringwethil had been her sole tormentor? As this sank in, he gritted his teeth- had they still been there, he would without doubt have given them a piece of his mind!

' _Arwen did not tell us_ ,' Elrohir sent to him privately, keeping his words from their sister, his tone grieved. ' _Does she no longer trust us at all? Before, she would never have lied about something this important...'_

Elladan caught his twin's eye, sighing, before looking at Arwen once more, trying to read the answer to that in her face. She appeared stunned, no doubt due to having heard their Adar's voice, but beyond that, seemed to have no idea why they had approached her in the first place- _if_ the puzzled look she had worn a few minutes ago could be believed.

Her hands trembled slightly as she broke the silence, speaking aloud. “Did you two come over here just so that I would speak to our parents?”

Elladan blinked- did she truly have no idea, no comprehension that they might have learned the truth of her suffering, and wish to comfort her? Of course, she could not know of their encounter with Thuringwethil, but still... surely Arwen had thought about what would happen when her lie was uncovered? He opened his mouth, but Elrohir got there first. His eyes were brimming with tears as he spoke. “Muinthel... why did you not tell us what has really happened to you? Why did you not want us to help?”

Arwen's face paled, her eyes narrowing. “I'm sure I don't know what you mean.” Her words were clipped, icy, her expression unreadable, though her shoulders hunched inward, as if she sought to hide, or to make herself smaller.

“Arwen...” Elladan spoke slowly, keeping a considerable distance between her and himself, not wishing her to bolt from them, not now. “We... had an encounter with Thuringwethil,” he decided on the spur of the moment to leave Luthien and Beren out of this explanation for now, as this was not truly about their ancestors, but about Arwen. “She has been seen off, but... she told us what you truly endured. What the Enemy did to you.”

“If it is in fact true.” Elrohir added hastily, sounding as if he wished it were not so. In truth, so did Elladan, for Arwen's sake.

But as she backed away from them, tears in her eyes, one hand pressed to her mouth, shaking her head, his heart sank. She would not be so distressed if Thuringwethil's tale had been a lie.

“Who... who else knows?” Her voice was soft, broken, defeated. She would not even meet their gazes, her whole posture radiating shame. “If you wish me to leave your sight, I will, but I must know if there is anyone else who won't wish me to be near them.”

 _What?_ Elladan's mind whirled. From the way Arwen was speaking, it sounded as if she expected to be ostracised or punished for what had been done to her, but how could she possibly think that would be the case? “Arwen- muinthel-” His voice faltered. What could he say, what words were there for _this_?

Elrohir, always the more insightful one, took a slow step forward, not even trying to check his tears as Elladan was doing. “Muinthel.” His tone was gentle, but insistent. Eventually Arwen looked up at him, her own eyes dark with anguish.

“We love you.” Elrohir's voice now seared with quiet intensity, emotion making his voice break. “No matter what's been done to you, how badly you've been hurt, _we love you_. We always have, and nothing will ever change that.”

Arwen let out a choked sound that might have been a sob, but there was a look of desperate hope in her eyes now.

Elladan, who had simply nodded fiercely in agreement with Elrohir's words, as his twin had said all that he too had wished to say, now cautiously outstretched his arms, not moving any closer, but waiting, hoping Arwen would be able to accept the embrace this time. His heart thudded in his chest, but, after what could have been forever, his sister slowly stepped forward, and, moving infinitely slowly, he slipped his arms round her, holding her gently, so that she could feel his hug, but with no force, so she could step back if she wished.

He felt her take a shuddering breath, and then she was weeping silently on his shoulder, letting him support her, though she made no move to return his embrace- perhaps she could not yet bring herself to do so. He did notice, however, that her right hand, covered with thick, raised scars, had moved to brush against Elrohir's, and slowly, he clasped it between both of his own, although Elrohir, much like Elladan himself, was not doing anything to make Arwen feel restrained. She was somewhat tense, but not panicking or actively trying to get away from them as she had the last time they had tried to make physical contact with her. Opening his bond with his twin, Elladan could sense, and share in the joy blossoming amidst the grief, that Arwen was starting to let them get closer once again. Perhaps she was not as lost to them as they had feared since finding her again. Perhaps now, now that no secrets lay between them, they could find their way back to the love and close bond they had once all shared.

  
  



	39. Interlude III

Celebrian sat motionless in the room she and her husband shared at the Havens, her mind reeling so much that she could not concentrate upon anything at present. Elladan and Elrohir's sudden shared anguish had echoed through the bond that linked their minds to hers, and Elrond's, and when their pain had inadvertently allowed a connection to form, for the first time in years, and they had been able to speak to their sons, the voice that had joined in that conversation, so faintly, had caused both her own heart, and Elrond's, to all but stop dead within their chests.

 _Arwen_. Celebrian was certain that it had been her. Impossibly, against all odds, she had heard the voice of her eldest daughter, long thought dead. She had been so stunned that the connection had broken immediately, leaving herself and Elrond staring at one another, wide-eyed.

Celebrian had been the first to speak. “How...” She had reached out once more with her mind, suddenly desperate to be certain, to know for sure that she had not lost her mind. But there had been no response, not from Arwen, or her brothers. The link was as faint as it had been for the last few years.

Elrond's face, graven with long suffering, had been more wary, even as his eyes burned with hope that she knew he would not admit to. “Meleth nin, it may be some trick.”

She had shaken her head fervently. “It isn't. I heard her. We both did!” Tears had stung her eyes. Arwen... her beloved daughter, their Evenstar... she was alive after all, after two decades of their believing the worst. Her hands had trembled, and she had clamped them to her mouth as a sense of horror chilled her to the bone. “We _gave up on her_ , Elrond. She was alive all along, just as Elladan and Elrohir said, and we... we just...” Plunging her face into her hands, she dissolved into sobs. They had just _assumed_ Arwen was numbered among the dead when no trace of her had ever been found, had eventually given up the searches, when all along she had been out there, going through who-knew-what, waiting and praying for rescue...

“Nana?” Alasse's little voice chimed, the elfling's footsteps tip-toeing closer. “Why are you crying?” A tiny, chubby hand slid into hers and Celebrian all but flinched. Arwen's hands had been that small, once, seeking hers for comfort or to show her something... Where was her elder daughter now? Where had she been all these years? What had she had to suffer through amid this war, while her parents went on with their lives, having given her up for dead? And why had she shut her heart to her sons, who had always known Arwen still lived, refusing to believe them? Guilt ripped through Celebrian and she ripped her hand from Alasse's, barely aware of her younger daughter's presence in the room, closing her eyes and casting out her mind, seeking desperately for Arwen, to hear that beloved voice again, to no avail.

Faintly, as if from a distance, she heard Elrond reassuring Alasse that Nana was alright, just tired, and shepherding the elfling from the room, encouraging her to go and find Uncle Elros to play with, while he returned to Celebrian's side. “Meleth, if that truly was Arwen-”

“It was!” Celebrian's eyes shot open incredulously. “You heard her voice, you sensed her mind, did you not?” How could he doubt it?

“I did,” Elrond's voice was heavy, resigned, as if he were saying things he would rather not. “I also noted the severe disquiet in the minds of our sons seconds before we heard that voice, which, I remind you, only lasted an instant.” He swallowed hard. “Celebrian, my love, I don't say this to hurt you, but... the Enemy, his servants... they have ways and means of conjuring the images and voices of those we love to torment us. It rarely means that-”

“You don't believe it.” Celebrian stood, agitated, and strode away from him. “Do you not think I would know _my own daughter's_ voice when I heard it?!”

“I know it sounded like her, but-”

“No. 'But' nothing. It _was_ Arwen.” She folded her arms, unwilling to continue this conversation. Elrond sighed as he apparently decided not to pursue this now, for fear of it becoming a true quarrel, and slipped from the room. Celebrian remained where she was, staring out of the window, her eyes roving aimlessly before slipping Northward. It _was_ her daughter she had sensed, reunited with her sons. Elladan, Elrohir and Arwen were all safe and together now, in that far distant camp in Mirkwood. Nothing Elrond could say would make her believe otherwise.

**' _Mirkwood. So is that where my young companion takes shelter now? I thank you for revealing that.'_**

The voice, a deafening, black, foul thing, sprang from nowhere, snaring her mind like a mesh, shredding any defences her thoughts had, rendering her paralyzed, unable to move or cry out. She had never heard a sound so dreadful, and even in hearing that voice speak, it was as if an impenetrable shadow fell over the room, leaving Celebrian in darkness, alone with that ghastly sepulchral voice, that echoed in a horrifying laugh before addressing her once again.

_**'My little bird has gotten further than I imagined in her wanderings, and evaded me for longer than I ever expected, but fear not, I will have her back in my care soon enough. And any who try to keep her from me will SUFFER.'** _

More cruel, mocking laughter sounded, and Celebrian fell to her knees, somehow finding the will to move, to clamp her hands over her ears, trying to shut the voice out. Morgoth- for who else could this be, tormenting her so- was even more powerful than she had ever imagined. Each and every word was like to a hammer slamming against her skull.

_**'And as for you, Celebrian Celeborniel, know that you are the one to blame for betraying my little bird to my gaze after she has lain hidden for so long. Rejoice in the fact that your precious daughter Arwen will know who is responsible for revealing her, allowing her to be returned to me, where she belongs.'** _

As soon as he had spoken her name, she could _feel_ a pair of eyes, amber, if they could be given a color at all, gazing straight at her. She let out a whimper, shaking from head to foot as the voice reverberated within her mind, perceiving all of her thoughts. She cringed, wanting to hide from those hateful eyes that blazed with unquenchable fire, even as they were colder than the depths of the Sea. Dark amusement and malice gleamed within those depths, and Celebrian let out a cry of anguish and horror, unable to truly comprehend the meaning of the words uttered by that terrible voice, before everything swam before her, and she crumpled to the ground, aware of nothing but an endless, blood-chilling terror.

* * *

**Elvish Translations**

**Meleth: Quenya word, meaning 'Beloved'.**

**Meleth nin: 'My beloved'.**


	40. Chapter 40

Maglor walked through the camp with no real goal in mind after seeing Turin and Nienor back to their respective tents, giving Arwen and her brothers privacy: he got the impression that, whatever had brought the twins to seek Arwen out, looking so agitated and grieved, that they wished to speak to her alone. At present, there was little to do- a rarity in these dark times, and he should be relishing the brief moment of peace, he knew that, but for some reason he was restless and just could not find a way to relax. It did not help that unease churned through him, relating to Arwen's reaction when he had told her of Alasse's existence- and why had Elladan and Elrohir not done so themselves? Did they truly hate their youngest sister so much that they would deny her existence? More than that, Arwen's own words, “I'm sure my parents are pleased to have a daughter they can still love unconditionally”, spoken in such a bitter tone... It worried him greatly.

Arwen's appearance had much changed since her capture, but that was to be expected after so long, over two decades. But her very personality... before her capture, she would have been thrilled to have a little sister, she had even often asked for one. The look almost of hate on her face when she had learned that Alasse existed, the implication she had made, that for whatever reason, Elrond and Celebrian would no longer love her as they once had, when clearly that was nonsense... how could she have come to feel as she did, and to believe such a thing?

What had _happened_ to her during her years as a prisoner? That bitter, broken look in her eyes, the jagged tone of voice.... it was eerily reminiscent of Maglor's own brother Maedhros' black moods, that came upon him more and more frequently in the years after his escape from Thangorodrim, for the rest of his life.

He did not feel he could question her for answers about her suffering though, not so soon after their reunion, when she was still so wary of him. But, Maedhros had returned from a similar captivity, and he had never been the same afterwards. No matter what Maglor had attempted, he had never been able to heal his brother, to restore any part of who he had once been. Maedhros had either been emotionless, ruthlessly focused on whatever battle or defense was needed, or he withdrew into himself, going somewhere that he could not be reached, until he lashed out, lost in his fear and rage, but never confiding in anyone what it was, specifically, that drove his behavior. Until, at the very last, he had lost all reason, becoming manic, half mad, and he had ended his own life. The look of relief on Maedhros' face, as he had seen the fiery chasm before him, before running and leaping into it... The memory still chilled Maglor to this day, that Maedhros had almost seemed _relieved_ to die, to end his suffering.

The thought of the same thing happening to Arwen... it was unbearable. But, the similarities between her behavior so far, and Maedhros', so long ago, were undeniable. Acting fearful and withdrawn, or going the opposite way, lashing out and speaking harshly and cruelly for no clear reason... His fists clenched. _It will not be the same this time. I will not allow it._ Besides, there was one upside to Arwen's situation that Maedhros had not had: she did seem willing to confide in Turin and Nienor, at least, and had she not, mere minutes ago, been willing to speak to Elladan and Elrohir, instead of pushing them away? Maedhros had not let anyone get close, to help him with his problems, no matter how hard they tried.

He closed his eyes, trying to convince himself that this was different. _Arwen is not as Maedhros was. Her story will not end with a suicide_. He remembered, as if it had been yesterday, the frustration and helplessness he had felt, watching his beloved older brother struggle to function, trapped in the aftermath of a nightmare he could not or would not articulate. Picturing the same suffering on the faces of Elladan and Elrohir, or Elrond and Celebrian, as they struggled to reach this changed version of Arwen, cut him deeper than any blade.

Abruptly coming to a decision, he turned around and retraced his steps, intending to speak to Turin- the Man seemed the stronger of the two siblings who had succored Arwen and brought her home, and they surely had to know _some_ of the details of Arwen's torment, if they had nursed her back to health, even if she had refused to speak of what she had endured. Perhaps hearing Maedhros' tale, the symptoms he had displayed, would encourage the Mortal to discuss Arwen more openly, for surely Turin would not wish Arwen to lose all hope and end her life as Maedhros had, as Turin and Nienor themselves had, in their first lives? If he was willing to talk to Maglor, perhaps they could work together to do all that they could to heal Arwen before it was too late.

Any chance of that was better than watching her decline as Maedhros had, until she was utterly beyond help.


	41. Chapter 41

Arwen looked exhausted after she finally managed to cease her crying, and by that point, the shoulder of Elladan's tunic was soaked with her tears, but he found he didn't care. It reminded him of when she would come to him for comfort as an elfling, after a nightmare or when something that was harmless had frightened her- a safer, more innocent time.

She wiped the remaining tears from her face with her good hand and stepped back slightly out of his embrace. He- and Elrohir- could almost _see_ the walls going back up, her posture once again declaring that she needed them to stay some distance from her. It was as if the brief spell of her letting her guard down enough to cry had been some lapse, in her mind, and her 'normal' was keeping people at arm's length. Not that that was surprising, Elladan reflected. For years- a decade and a half, he reckoned quickly, calculating the year she had been taken captive, and subtracting the most recent five years that Turin and Nienor claimed to have sheltered Arwen, she had been at Morgoth's mercy, with no say at all in who laid hands on her or when. Of course she now needed to know she had full control over who touched her, and preferred distance above all else!

“I'm sorry.” Her voice was low, her eyes on the ground.

Both twins blinked, but it was Elrohir who responded. “For what?”

“Being foolish and taking up your time with my weeping when I am not in pain and have no reason to cry.” Her voice was now flat, dead, and she spoke as if reciting something she had been forced to learn and repeat many times.

Elladan's blood ran cold. _Forced to repeat_. What was the likelihood that she _had_ been made to believe that, when she had wept after Morgoth had assaulted her, and been convinced (and beaten, as likely as not, if Thuringwethil's taunts were anything to go by) that she had nothing to weep about? A fire surged to life in his gut, building and boiling within him, until he had to clench his jaw and fists to keep from retorting angrily, or slamming his fists into an innocent tree, which would only hurt him, and the tree, and frighten Arwen so that she might never speak to them again. _Calm down,_ he told himself, _Losing your temper will solve nothing_. “You have nothing to apologize for.” He struggled to make his voice sound gentle, to reassure her. “There is no shame in crying, and we all need to do so sometimes.”

She wrapped her arms around herself tightly. “It would have meant a whipping.... before.” Her words were barely audible, but both twins recoiled at hearing that. Elrohir covertly stepped on Elladan's foot, just in time to prevent him retorting in anger. Worryingly, Arwen, who once would have noticed any unspoken signal or gesture between her brothers, seemed oblivious, her gaze still on the ground, her left hand gripping the other tightly, nails almost gouging into thick, scarred skin, though she seemed oblivious to the pain she surely was causing herself.

Elrohir took a cautious step closer, keeping his hands in plain view and still. “Why don't we go somewhere to talk? We can tell you what's been happening over the last few years, and you can tell us... anything. If you want. We won't force you.” His voice sounded awkward by the end, his words trailing off into nothing.

A look of fear crossed Arwen's face. At the thought of having to talk about her past? At being alone with them? There was no way to know. But she hadn't backed away, so that was something, at least. “In my tent? If Nienor is there?” She was whispering now, as if she had no right to ask for anything, or to try and set conditions on her doing anything. Such meekness was not like her- or rather, it was not like the Arwen they had once known.

Elladan and Elrohir exchanged looks. They had not planned on trying to catch up with their sister with a near-stranger present, but then again, to Arwen, Nienor was not a stranger, but someone she had grown to trust, and, like as not, love.

“If that is what you wish, then of course.”

Arwen wrapped her arms around herself more tightly, still digging her nails into her scarred hand, almost as if it were a habit. She gestured with her head for them to go first- perhaps she disliked the idea of them walking behind her, where she could not see them?

Troubled by yet another sign of fear and mistrust in their sister, the twins did their best to look nonchalant as they set off, already knowing where Nienor and Arwen had been housed within the camp. Of course, if Nienor was not within their tent, chances were the private talk would not happen, but at least Arwen was willing to try and engage with them. It was a start.

Arwen either forgot her fear of letting her brothers be close to her but unseen, or her eagerness to see Nienor overcame it, for she darted ahead of them to enter the tent first. Nienor was indeed inside, her golden head bent over a piece of cloth, her hands busily sewing. She gave Arwen a welcoming smile, but her expression turned puzzled when the twins ducked in after her.

Arwen all but collapsed to the ground, sitting beside Nienor on her bedroll, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them, making herself smaller.

The twins sat opposite them, awkwardly, their longer limbs a hindrance in the small confined space, although they had made a point of leaving the tent flap open, to avoid giving Arwen the feeling that she was trapped within. Huan being sprawled at the foot of both bedrolls did not help, as his great size took up rather a lot of space. He greeted the new arrivals with a huff, and a lick upon the hand for Arwen, before laying back down and resuming his dozing.

Nienor looked at Arwen more closely, and concern furrowed her brow. “Arwen, why have you been crying?” Her blue eyes flashed and she glowered at the twins. “What did the two of you do?”

“They didn't do anything.” Arwen's voice was flat. “Thuringwethil attacked but was repelled. But,” Here she nodded towards her brothers without looking at them. “She told them what really happened. What _he_ did to me.” She curled up even tighter on herself, while huddling still closer to Nienor. “They know.”

Nienor's face was white, but set with determination. “If you intend to repeat it to anyone else-”

“We won't.” Elladan spoke decisively. It was perhaps best not to mention that Luthien and Beren also knew, at least not yet. “But... we do think it will help if Arwen can tell us a little more of what happened. Not any specific details,” _Valar knows I could live an Age without hearing any of that!_ “But... just so we have an understanding of what might upset her, things we shouldn't say or do...”

Nienor gave him a sceptical, wary look. “Arwen doesn't like to speak of that time.” The warning was clear in her voice.

“But if it helped...” Elrohir trailed off.

 _I will explain what I can_. Arwen spoke through osanwe, speaking directly into their minds, but not making eye contact with any of them. _But not out loud. I don't want anyone else to hear anything_.

Nienor started at hearing Arwen's voice in her mind, but recovered her composure quickly. “Are you sure? If this upsets you...”

She had a point. Arwen was already trembling slightly, and she had not yet told them anything, not really.

 _I think I need to do this. Even if it means that they hate me, once they know what I had to..._ Tears ran down Arwen's cheeks as her words trailed off. _But I want to know what you two recall of my being taken captive first, when our home fell._ Her eyes darted to the twins for a split second. _Maybe then I can start piecing together what was real and what wasn't, which events were falsely placed in my mind_. She inched closer to Nienor once again, and, to the twins' amazement, when the mortal woman slipped an arm around Arwen, she allowed the physical contact, even resting her head on Nienor's shoulder, though she kept her eyes on her brothers. Nienor too was watching them, sitting in silence, waiting for them to begin their tale.

The twins exchanged looks, both extremely troubled by Arwen's reference to her memories being tampered with somehow, but unwilling to risk scaring her by demanding more information on that. Their gazes locked, each willing the other to be the first to speak. Elladan reluctantly went first, speaking haltingly of the long ago time when their peaceful world had been torn to shreds, never to be regained. “The first warning we had of the Enemy's return was an army of Orcs and other fell beasts falling upon the mortal kingdom of Arnor. They came from the far North with little warning, and the very sky seemed to darken as they advanced. We sent a small force out to aid the Edain there, thinking it a mere skirmish, at first. None of our people returned, and Arnor and its people were all but destroyed. We did not know that to begin with though. The army advanced, led by Thuringwethil, and our home, Rivendell, lay almost directly in its path...”

* * *

Turin was pacing back and forth, feeling like a caged animal after returning to his tent once more. It was ironic, he reflected. In his first life, he had rather enjoyed solitude and having quiet to think, but now, he grew bored and restless so quickly. It did not help that he had little to do here- staring at the walls of a tent was tiresome after mere minutes, let alone days on end. Perhaps, despite what he had said to Thranduil, he _should_ go and offer his services to the warriors who guarded this camp? It would be better than remaining idle with naught to do but brood on the past and worry about Arwen and Nienor...

The tent flap opened and someone slipped inside without warning. Turin only just stopped himself going for his dagger, shaking his head when he recognized Maglor.

“Come on in, why don't you?” He greeted, a trace of his old bitterness coloring his voice, even though he had not meant it to.

Maglor arched a brow, not seeming bothered at all by Turin's tone. “I would have knocked, but,” He tapped his hand against the tent wall. “Fabric does not truly allow for it.” He was almost smiling as he sat down beside Turin, as if sharp-edged banter was familiar, and welcomed.

Turin was taken aback for a moment, having expected anger in response to his default attitude. “What do you want?” He managed, in the end.

“Well, first, to reiterate what I said earlier, about offering friendship without complications, and also,” Ancient, haunted dark eyes met Turin's. “I wished to speak with you about Arwen. About her... difficulties.”

Turin's eyes narrowed. “And what, exactly, do you think you know about her?”

“Not near as much as you, I'm sure, nor am I going to say otherwise. But if you know the tale of my older brother Maedhros, you know he suffered, and escaped from, captivity also. Some of the behavior he displayed afterwards, for the remainder of his life...” Maglor bowed his head. “I see similarities between him and Arwen, and in Maedhros' case, I was unable to help him in the way he needed. This time, I hope to be able to.”

The pain in Maglor's voice was clear, and Turin, despite his wariness of discussing Arwen with someone he did not know, found himself curious. He had heard of Maedhros Feanorian, of course, but had no idea of how he might have died. “Your brother... what happened to him, in the end?”

Maglor's eyes were bleak as he looked up at Turin once more. “What did you choose to do, when you could no longer bear to suffer in life?”

Turin's heart stopped in his chest, or so it felt. Maedhros' struggles and torments had grown so bad, so unbearable, that he had taken his own life? And Maglor, in less than a week, had seen similarities between his brother's behavior and Arwen's? “No.” He finally managed to say, his voice a rasp, shaking his head. “She cannot...”

“I do not intend for it to reach such a point.” Maglor's voice was determined now, though not loud. “But if this time is to be different, I do need to know anything that she might have told you about what she went through. Maedhros would never speak of what haunted his nightmares, the demons in his thoughts...” His face was haggard, lost in old memories. “But he could not cope with his pain alone.”

Turin felt slightly abashed at that- those words could just have easily have described him, at many points in his original life. _This is about Arwen, not you_ , he reminded himself. But... “It isn't truly my place to tell you anything of her story.” It sounded weak, even to him- what if his loyalty, his silence, contributed to Arwen's problems becoming worse? He sat down, folding his long legs beneath him so he was not towering so over Maglor, his brow furrowed, deep in thought.

Maglor leaned forward, an almost pleading look in his eyes. “Listen to me. I do not know what you may or may not have heard of my past, my blood family, but know this: I adopted Elrond, Arwen's father, and his brother when they were small. I raised them, and love them as if they had been mine in truth. I dwelled with Elrond and his family before this war began anew, and watched his sons, and Arwen, growing up. They are my family, and there is nothing I would not do to protect them. When I believed Arwen dead, what it did to her parents and brothers, to all of us...” His voice broke. “Discovering that she still lives... it is a miracle in my eyes. I would- I _will_ \- do anything I have to in order to keep her safe and happy now. Even if that means keeping anything I know hidden, for her sake, I will.” He let out a hollow laugh. “And, let's face it, if you are aware of the kinslayings, then you surely know that nothing Arwen believes herself to blame for can be any worse than my sins.”

It was Turin's turn to raise an eyebrow. “How did you know she blames herself for-” He cut himself off before revealing anything. Maglor seemed sincere in his words, but even so, he would not give anything away _just_ yet.

Maglor's shoulders slumped. “That was the only thing I ever got out of Maedhros, the unshakeable belief that he had somehow deserved his tortures because he could not avoid them or escape. It seems to be a game the Enemy enjoys, twisting the minds of his victims to make them compliant.”

That certainly rang true, fitting well with Arwen's behavior, and Turin felt his resolve to stay silent wavering. “If I were to tell you...”

“It would go no further than this tent,” Maglor stated firmly. “And even if, in time, I learned anything from Arwen, it would be the first I heard of any of it. I...” He took a deep breath. “I give you my word, no-one will ever know what we have discussed here.”

Turin thought quickly. He still did not want to tell Maglor outright, it would feel like a betrayal of Arwen's trust, but if he said a few things, led Maglor to work it out on his own... “What do you know of the Quest of the Silmaril?”

Maglor frowned, clearly not understanding what appeared to be a change of the subject. “Beren and Luthien's foray into Angband? Only what is known in tales and songs, that they disguised themselves, that Morgoth saw through Luthien's disguise, and desired her, and she used her Song to enchant him to sleep-”

“Is it true that Arwen once looked the very image of Luthien?” Turin interrupted, hoping that he did not need to say any more than that- surely Maglor would connect the dots now?

“Yes, if Celeborn and Galadriel are to be believed. Arwen was still an adolescent when she was taken captive, but-” Maglor stopped speaking abruptly, his eyes wide, his face ashen. He shook his head slowly, horror spreading across his face. “No.”

Turin stared him down, and nodded once, slowly. “Not a word to anyone. Understand?”

Maglor hardly seemed to hear him. His white face turned green, and he leaped to his feet, running from the tent, a hand clamped to his mouth.

Turin caught up with him just after he'd finished emptying his stomach into one of the makeshift privies. “My sentiments exactly.” He remarked wryly.

Maglor shook his head once more, straightening up slowly, wiping at his mouth with a small cloth. “Of all the sick, twisted, depraved...”

“Not out _here_.” Turin hissed, glancing around to make sure no-one was listening. To his relief, no-one appeared to be nearby, and he half-dragged Maglor back to the tent to continue their discussion in private.

He never noticed the elf standing a few yards away, concealed among a clump of willow trees.


	42. Chapter 42

Lúthien had been at the very edge of this camp for some time, well over an hour, her body wracked with grief and horror, shuddering with tears she tried not to let fall. She had fled, not even allowing Beren to follow, after Thuringwethil's revelation about what had truly befallen Arwen during her captivity. The vampire had claimed that Lúthien herself was responsible, albeit indirectly, because she'd been the one who used Morgoth's evil thoughts and lusts against him. Lúthien had needed time alone to think: _was_ that true, in any way? Of course, she had had no way of knowing that her actions would reverberate down through the Ages, bringing such a cruel fate on her young descendant. But to accept that the whole thing was her fault? No. She would never accept that. The only one to blame for Morgoth's depraved actions was Morgoth. Whether young Arwen saw it that way though... Given her reaction the first and only time Lúthien had set eyes on her, she doubted it.

What had Morgoth and Thuringwethil filled her head with, to incite such a feeling of hate as Lúthien had sensed in her mind? And how could she even begin to get past it, to try and help Arwen heal, for she felt she owed her that much, if Arwen could not bear to be near her? She sighed softly, shaking her head. There did not appear to be an easy answer. Sensing a presence nearby, concealed among the trees, she rolled her eyes. “You can come out now, Beren.” Really, she thought, she should have known he would not leave her unguarded in times such as these, even as he respected her wish for privacy.

He slowly came over, the same pain and grief etched on his face as Lúthien felt in her heart. “Are you all right?”

“No.” She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. “All those years ago, if I had known what the result of our stealing the Silmaril would be... I don't know if I would have done it.” She was not just speaking of poor Arwen now either, and from the way Beren enfolded her in an embrace, she could tell he understood. Yes, having the Silmaril had meant they had been allowed to marry and have a family, but at what cost? Realms had fallen in fights over the hallowed jewel, countless lives lost and families torn apart, Elves slaughtering Elves over the blasted stone, and now this latest horror, visited on one of the youngest of their own line. Lúthien leaned into Beren's arms, letting him support her. “I would never be parted from you, but...”

“Was it worth it?” Beren completed the sentence for her, his tone melancholy. “For us, it was. For others...”

She wiped a single tear from her face. “I want to at least try and do something to help Arwen, to reach out to her. Whatever it takes.”

She felt Beren tense, and he stepped away from her slightly. Lúthien looked up at him quizzically. “What is it?”

“I just... are you sure that's wise, at this stage?” Beren shook his head. “We already know that Arwen kept the truth of... this... from her brothers, which suggests she doesn't wish people to know. Not that I blame her. And you yourself said she reacted with fear and hate upon even seeing you once.” He met her gaze steadily, forestalling her protest with a finger to her lips. “You'll remember I told you, I believed that Thuringwethil might have twisted Arwen's mind against you? That is true, and more likely worse: what do you think the Enemy told her of you, while she was in his grasp?”

The very thought chilled her to the bone: she did not even _want_ to imagine the tales Morgoth might have told of her. And to an innocent elleth who'd still been a child, albeit barely, when he first laid hands upon her, whose only 'crime' was being born in Lúthien's own likeness... “Would it be best, then, if I stayed away from Arwen unless she approaches me?” She didn't want that, either: to her, avoiding the elleth would only suggest that she did not wish to go near her own great-great granddaughter, which was decidedly not true.

Beren exhaled heavily. “There are no good answers, I fear. But I do think that Arwen needs to direct... whatever this situation ends up being. She's had more than enough experience of her free will being disregarded.”

Lúthien could certainly agree with that! She leaned closer to her husband once again, taking comfort in his warmth. “Perhaps we should speak to the twins, make sure they don't repeat this to anyone else. Though I don't doubt they have already sought out their sister.” She shook her head. “As long they don't hurt her any more than she has already suffered.” Half-closing her eyes, she 'reached' with her mind, looking for them. “They are speaking to her, but no-one seems distressed. Niënor is there.” Her mind drifted further. “Túrin is speaking to Maglor, for some reason, though I cannot imagine why he-”

Her whole body tensed and she found herself turning towards the North, not knowing why she was suddenly on alert, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up. She detected Morgoth's gaze, roaming the encampment, mere seconds later, and gritted her teeth, pouring her will into forming a shield of light over as much of the area as she could, burning the probing, creeping 'fingers' of evil, keeping him at bay. She could 'see' similar lights aiding and supporting her work: Galadriel, Celeborn, Mithrandir, Maglor and Thranduil, all at different places in the camp, buoying up the shield she had conjured.

Beren, by now used to seeing displays of Power, supported her as best he could without distracting her by asking questions, to her relief. Morgoth's 'claws' became more insistent, as if he were determined to find a way through to spy on the camp, or as if he were determined to find someone... Lúthien fought the urge to tremble. What he wanted did not matter: he would not have his way while she could prevent it. Not again. She continued to push against him, forging her will, in concert with the other Elves, into a solid wall of Light that his Darkness could not pierce. She heard a furious, almost feral snarl of rage echoing in her mind before Morgoth's presence withdrew- for now.

* * *

Arwen had actually begun to feel almost relaxed in the presence of her brothers, and had even cracked a smile at some of the tales they told. She still didn't remember much of her life with them, but if they were speaking the truth, then she- and they- truly had been happy, once. Now that they knew the truth, and did not shun her, perhaps, someday, they might share joy like that again? She glanced at Niënor, who was laughing at something Elladan had said. Her 'chosen-sister' seemed to enjoy the twins' presence as well, so she might be willing to keep Arwen company in the future if she wanted to spend time with Elladan and Elrohir, to get to know them properly once again.

An all too familiar sensation, of icy-fire and Darkness fell over her mind. _Morgoth_. He was looking at her again. Why had she thought he would ever let her go?! The weight of his presence hung over her mind like a stormcloud. She scrambled to her feet with a cry, recoiling out of habit, even though she couldn't say with any certainty where his presence had come from. Trembling from head to foot, and both wanting to curl up in a ball, and to run as far away as possible, she barely noticed Elladan and Elrohir tensing, glancing around uneasily, although Niënor appeared to have noticed nothing, because she merely looked puzzled.

It only lasted for a few minutes, then the awful presence faded, as if something or someone had forced him away. The weight of the air lessened, and through her heart's pounding in her ears, she could hear the twins explaining to Niënor what they'd sensed, some foul Presence bearing down on them. Arwen could not keep from trembling, but slowly, it sank in.

_He had been driven off._

She didn't understand how, or who could have done such a thing, but a tiny bit of ever-present tension lifted from her shoulders.

If Morgoth's sight, his mind, could be sent forth from this camp against his will, if there was so much Power guarding this encampment, then perhaps she wasn't in as much danger, being here in this place, as she had feared?


End file.
